


Life and Death

by vias_words



Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children (2016), Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Backstory, Bisexual Enoch, Brother-Sister Relationships, Bullying, Childhood, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Death, Demiromatic Enoch, Depression, Enoch's Backstory, Family, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Growing Up, Little Sisters, Love, Multi, Secret Crush, Secrets, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Self-Hatred, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-03-27 05:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13874625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vias_words/pseuds/vias_words
Summary: Enoch's life is far from ordinary.Death seemed to surround him at all times. From growing up in a funeral parlor to learning he could control the dead, he could never escape the cold but comforting grasp of death. It was both his strongest power and greatest weakness.After being treated as an outcast all his life, he closes himself off to people, even the peculiars, who are the closest thing he has to a family now. Haunted by the secrets of his past, he struggles to cope and find the happiness he knew he once had.But every so often, someone comes around who unlocks the pain he holds in his heart.- Following the peculiar life of Enoch O'Connor, before and after the loop -(Based off the movie for age purposes but with some details from the books!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You know, I told myself I wouldn’t start an Enoch story after I watched the movie but I loved his character too much and now here I am

Everyone knew he was strange. 

Being born to a family of undertakers didn't help his reputation much either. 

They all knew he was strange but they didn't know the extent of his strangeness.

His fascination with death started at a young age. Growing up, he saw cold white faces of those recently passed, their sunken eyes, their hollow cheeks, their arms folded across the chests that would never rise again. Old and young, male and female, white and black or anywhere in between. Death didn't have a preference, it just took whoever it pleased. 

Enoch was two when he saw a dead man for the first time. 

A casket lay open in the funeral parlor while his parents finished up the final preparations: brewing some hot tea, adjusting the flower arrangements, making sure there were enough tissues to go around. 

On a ordinary day, his grandparents would have picked him up to take him out while the wake took place so his parents could cater to their clients without worrying about a wild child. But his grandmother had come down with a nasty cold the evening before, leaving his parents to deal with the child alone. 

He was told to sit patiently in a stiff wooden chair and wait until they were done. But what two year old boy could sit still that long when there was a whole world to explore? Hardly a minute had passed before he was out of his seat and toddling around. 

Curious, as all young children are, he found himself admiring the polished wooden box in the front of the room. Standing on his tippy toes and clinging to the edge on the box, he peered in to see pale man, fast asleep. 

Enoch thought it was an odd place for a man to nap. He stared at his old wrinkled face but didn't recognize it. He wondered who this man was. Reaching out, as far as his little arm could, he poked the man'a cheek to wake him. But he didn't stir. His skin was limp and cold. Enoch tried again, but still he didn't wake.  He tried once more, letting out a shrill squeal, which was baby speak for _"wake up sir, who are you?"_

"Enoch!" He heard his mother exclaim in the voice she only used when he was doing something he wasn't supposed to. She dashed over, scooping him up and pulling him away from the man.

From then on, he got many other glimpses of the corpses that visited his family's parlor. But wasn't until three years later that his parents explained the concept of death. 

Enoch remembered sitting by the window of his house, waiting for his grandparents to pick him up for the day. The rain beat down on the glass and he watched two drops of water race each other down the pane. He waited for an hour, then two, but no one ever came. That night, he found his mother in living room, her face streaked with tears like the rain he'd watched all day.

The next morning, his father sat him down for what he called a "man-to-man." Enoch liked that idea, because it meant he didn't need to sit next to his baby sister, who always wailed and and pulled the dark curls on his head.

His father, who Enoch was often told he was the spitting image of, cleared his throat, "Sometimes, Enoch, when people go to sleep, they don't wake up." 

"Why not?" Enoch blinked. Why would anyone want to sleep that long? There's so many more fun things to do while awake!

"Well, they may be old, or sick, or hurt, and they go off to a place in their sleep where they will feel better." He explained the best he could. 

"Do they come back?"

His father frowned with a shake of his head, "I'm afraid not. But with time, everyone they know and love will join them and be happy."

Enoch nodded in understanding but wasn't sure why his father would be telling him this.

"At the funeral parlor, we take care of these people and their families. It can be a very sad time when loved one leaves us but we must keep in mind that they will be happier on the other side." His father reached out and took Enoch's small hands in his much larger ones. Enoch hoped that one day he would be as big and strong as his dad. 

"Yesterday, your grandmother left us to go to this better place." He father finally told him.

"Forever?" Enoch asked, looking up to his father. He swore he could see water gathering in the corner of his eye but he must have imagined it. His father didn't cry.

"Forever." He affirmed with a short nod. 

Enoch furrowed his eyebrows. Why would his grandmother leave without saying goodbye? 

Squeezing his hands, his father looked him in the eye, "Just remember, Enoch, death is nothing to fear. Life is temporary and filled with unhappiness. In death, we are free."

-

"Enoch, are you dead?" A girl's voice broke through to him, "Wake up already!" 

There was a sudden _'whump'_ as a pillow was flung down, hitting his head.

Enoch groaned and rolled over, trying to ignore the pestering. 

"Here, let me," Another girl said, picking up the pillow.

Enoch knew this voice too well and his eyes shot open, "Bronwyn, no! I'm awake, I'm awake" he held out his arm to stop the young girl, who held the pillow over her head. Last time she had used this wake up tactic, he ended up with a room full of feathers and a bloody nose.

Bronwyn lowered the pillow and Fiona giggled next to her. Enoch pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He tried to adjust them to the sunlight which streamed through the slates of the circular window across the room. 

"It's time for breakfast. Miss Peregrine says if you're not dressed and at the table in five minutes, there will be nothing until lunch." Fiona delivered the headmistress' message, standing at attention, her hands clasped behind her back.

"Fine," Enoch grumbled, trying to flatten his hair down, which stuck out and curled in odd directions. He slid out from the warm comfort of his blankets, placing his bare feet on the cold wooden floorboards. 

He raised an eyebrow at the girls who lingered, "Well? Bugger off, then!" He shooed them away. With a few childish giggles, they left the room, shutting the door behind them. 

Enoch was quick to dress, running a comb through his hair before trotting down the creaky stairs to join the others. The children were already seated, eyeing the food in the center of the table with eager eyes. Enoch sat at the end of the table next to a seemingly empty space, that - judging but the floating cutlery - Millard occupied. 

Across from Enoch, Emma buckled herself into her seat. She eyed the doorway, waiting for a familiar face to appear.

"Nice of you to finally join us, Abe." Miss Peregrine clicked the button on the pocket watch in her hand, "With only a few seconds to spare. Try to be quicker next time." Miss Peregrine was a stickler on time, counting every hour, minute, and second. If they were just a millisecond too late for their chores or a meal, they would surely hear about it.

"Sorry, Miss P," He said, flashing her a grin, "Beauty takes time," he joked, running a hand through his dark, slicked back hair. 

Emma giggled with a flutter of her eyelashes and they exchanged a smile. 

Enoch resisted the urge to gag.

Miss Peregrine's eyes shot over to him, "Enoch, try not to look so disgusted at the breakfast table, please." 

Enoch turned away to stare at his empty plate.

Abe took his seat at the head of the table between Enoch and Emma as the other kids dove into the morning fest, loading up their plates with bacon, sausage, beans, and fruit. 

Enoch took a slice of toast and buttered it, taking a bite.

Emma stared at him from across the table, her brow furrowed, "That's all you're eating?" She questioned. 

Hearing this, Gloria, the most recent member of the home, looked over at Enoch's empty plate, "Miss Peregrine, Enoch's not eating again!" She announced in her whining drawl.

Enoch shot her a glare. He was under a firm belief that her peculiarity was being obnoxious, as she was extremely good at it. 

All heads turned to stare at Enoch.

Miss Peregrine frowned, "Enoch, growing boys need their nutrition, which can not be gained from a single piece of toast. Now please eat properly." She said with a stern look. 

He huffed, but obeyed, adding a sausage and some strawberries to his plate, "Once the bloody loop is made I'm not going to grow anymore, so what's the point." 

Miss Peregrine opened her mouth to give him a warning about his language but was interrupted by Hugh.

"Oh, when will you make a loop, Miss Peregrine?" He asked, so excited that a bee escaped his mouth. Everyone turned to the headmistress, awaiting her answer eagerly.

"Please not soon, I'm much too young!" Horace stated, straitening his tie, trying to look dignified in his adolescent body. 

Miss Peregrine smiled, a glimmer in her eye, "Soon children. As you know, I'm waiting for the _most_ perfect day! Then I can create a loop for us to stay." 

Millard piped up, "Can we wait until 1944? Then I will be 13!"

Enoch couldn't imagine being 13 for the rest of his life but he wouldn't mind the loop not being created till then. At least then he'd be 18 and maybe be treated more like an adult. 

Gloria shook her head, "Why, that's two years away! I don't want to wait that long. Why does it matter how old you are if no one can even see you!" 

Millard was obviously upset by this comment, as his slammed his cutlery down, pushing his chair out with a loud scrape against the wood. They tracked his movements by the sound of his footsteps stomping out of the room.

"Gloria! There's no need to be rude," Emma's jaw dropped. 

Miss Peregrine stuck her chin in the air, "Emma is quite right. Gloria, you will apologize to Millard after breakfast. And you will also be in charge of collecting and cleaning the dishes when we are all finished." She instructed.

Gloria crossed her arms, the flaps of the gills on her neck opening shutting forcefully with a huff.

A hint of a smile traced Enoch lips, happy that Gloria was put in her place for once. She'd only been there a few months but she was a huge nuisance. She was 15 - only a year younger than himself - but had the attitude of a bratty ten year old. All the children could get on his nerves from time to time, as all siblings do, but none so bad as Gloria.

He was more than glad to leave his half eaten breakfast plate on the table for her to clean before he retreated to his room. 

As he made his way down the hall to his room, he heard voices coming from the room next to his, in which Abe resided in. 

Pausing, he heard Emma's voice through the closed door (which Miss Peregrine certainly didn't allow for two children of opposite genders).

"Just think, Abe! When the loop is created, we can be young forever - _together forever_." She spoke in a hushed but excited voice.

Enoch got a vile taste in his mouth. With a kick, his door swung open and he stepped inside, slamming it behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

The schoolyard was alive with shouts of glee, as children ran about, swung on the swing set, and played hopscotch with each other. 

Enoch found himself alone in the corner of the yard by the big fence that prevented the students from running off into the wooded area behind the school. He kneeled in the dirt, staining the legs of his trousers brown. His mother would be cross with him for getting mud and sand all over them again, but he didn't care. He had more important things to focus on at the time.

Soft footsteps approaching in the dirt caused him to turn around and he saw two other little boys making their way over to him. They were in his year, around the age of eight. Perhaps he could make friends with them! His parents were always telling him he should befriend his classmates and this was the perfect opportunity.

"Hi!" He greeted them with a wave of his dirt caked hand, "Look what I found!" 

The boys stood over him too get a good look at what he'd been so interested in. 

"What _is_ that?" One of the boys inquired, looking a what appeared to be a bundle of black feathers.

"It's a bird!" Enoch informed them, picking up a stick and prodding it so they could view its beak and glassy eyes.

The other boy scrunched his nose, "Eww, it's _dead!_ " He exclaimed.

"Yeah!" Enoch nodded with enthusiasm. It was a great discovery. The bird was still fresh, newly fallen with almost all its feathers intact. 

"That's gross!" The boys back away. 

"No! My parents say death is a beautiful thing," he told the boys, "They take care of dead people." He informed them with a sense of pride for his family's business.

The first boy looked at him with horror, “You're _creepy!_ ”He turned to his friend, "Let's go. I don't want to talk to him anymore." 

The other boy agreed and they ran off, leaving Enoch alone with the dead bird.

His shoulders drooped. Why didn't they think it was as amazing as he did? He loved learning about his parent's business. They always said how it takes someone very special to do a job like theirs. 

Enoch looked back at the dead bird. It stared back with an unwavering eye, it's beak still open, as if it were in mid song, it's black feather sleek and shiny. 

The school bell rang out, sending the children running for the doors. 

He turned to glance at the school, where kids began to file in for class, then back to the dead bird.

Without hesitance, Enoch reached out, picking up its body with his bare hands, careful not to ruffle the feathers too much. Then he stuffed it into his knapsack next to his reading book. He threw his bag over his shoulders and ran to join the other children.

All day he felt restless, awaiting when he could go home and show off his new discovery to his parents. Surely they would share his excitement!

When the teacher finally dismissed the class, Enoch took off, running all the way home. 

He burst into his house, going straight into the kitchen to find him mother.

"Mum! Mum! Lookit what I got!" He called, bouncing into the room. 

He found his mother standing against the wall, telephone pressed to her ear as she spoke to a client. She held out a single finger to silence him, so she could listen to the call. 

Enoch huffed in disappointment. But he perked up when he remembered someone else that he could show off his prized possession to. 

Scurrying into the other room, he found his sister in the lounge, stacking some colorful wooden blocks.

"Lucille, wanna see what I found today?" He asked the three year old girl.

Her eyes grew wide with wonder and she nodded her head, "Yes, yes!" She forgot about the tower she was building and turned to her older brother.

Enoch took off his bag, opening the flap and reaching inside. Lucille waited on edge, anxious to see what he was so excited about.

With a flourish, he pulled out the bird, holding it out for her to see.

Her mouth formed an o as she stared at it in awe, "Birdy!" She exclaimed.

"I found it at school. See, it's dead!" Enoch pointed out. Using his fingers, he opened and closed the bird’s beak, to mimic it speaking, "Hi, Luci! My name's Mr Bird. Isn't it a splendid day?" He spoke in a funny deep voice.

Lucille laughed, clapping her hands together as if it were a real puppet show. 

"I want to touch!" She said, reaching out.

He didn't see why not so he held the bird out for her to pet.

"Good birdy," she smiled, running her hand over its feathers.

There was a click of heels as their mother entered the room, "Enoch? What was it you wanted to show me?" She asked, standing in the doorframe behind him.

With a beaming smile, he spun around, holding the dead bird up for her to see.

To his surprise, she let out a scream. Was she so delighted by his discovery that she couldn’t contain her excitement? It seemed unlike his mother to be so loud.

"What in heavens name is that?" She stared at it, a hand over her chest. 

"A birdy!" Lucille told her.

"I found it!" Enoch boasted.

Their mother looked slightly green, "Don't touch it! Put it back outside!" She ordered, ushering him out the back door.

Enoch frowned. He thought she'd be more happy about his discoveries. She worked with dead bodies all day, why wouldn't she like a dead bird? 

"Now, get rid of that thing!" She instructed pushing him into the back garden. "And then please wash up. I don't want you getting ill from a dead bird."

Trudging into the garden, Enoch felt an overwhelming feeling of disappointment. He had been so excited about his treasure, he didn't want to get rid of it so soon. 

He found spot of dirt on the edge of his garden and gently set the bird down. He picked up a handful of leaves and placed them on top of the body to cover it. 

Later that night, when his parents were asleep, he tiptoed down the hall and opening the back door with extra caution, hoping to not make a noise. Once outside, in the chill of the night air, he ran back to where he'd left the bird. He brushed off the leaves, picking up the limp body and bringing it back inside. 

In the kitchen cupboard, he found an old glass jar his mother used for pickling beets and cucumbers. He stuffed the black bird inside, shutting the lid tight. He snuck back to his bedroom, where he tucked the jar under his bed to hide it from his parents sight.

-

The bedroom was dark, which was exactly the way Enoch liked it. He had closed the shutters and pulled the curtains over the windows in an attempt to block out as much sunlight as he could. Only a circle of yellow light from his desk lamp remained to light up his workspace. 

Various odors of rotting flesh, animal innards and preservatives wafted out of the eerie collection jars stacked on his shelves and table. He'd gotten used to the putrid smells a long time ago and he was no longer bothered by them. But Miss Peregrine required him to shut his door and open a window while he was working so the other children didn't have to deal with the rancid scent that filled his room - especially after Horace had gotten sick in the hall that one time. 

With steady hand, using a pair of tweezers, he extracted the heart of a rat from one of the jars. Dripping in slime, he transferred the heart into his newest creation: a squirrel with the head of a frog.

With rigid movements, the squirrel body began to twitch as life started to flow through its veins. It finally jumped to its feet, scurrying around his desk and croaking. 

Enoch leaned back in his chair with a proud grin. He watched the mutant creature peer around for food, the frog's throat bubbling with every breath. 

He considered releasing the animal into Gloria's room to give her a fright. But before he got the chance to, someone burst into his room.

"Enoch, come quick!" Hugh poked his head in, his nose crinkling when he was hit by the smell but a smile remaining on his face. 

He commanded the frog-squirrel to stay as he followed Hugh downstairs. 

The children were already gathered in the lounge. Enoch leaned against the door back wall trying to figure out what the excitement was about. 

Hugh took a seat on the floor next to Fiona and Millard, who'd put on some trousers and a sweater since the last time Enoch saw - well _didn't see_ \- him. Horace took the armchair, which Victor and Bronwyn leaned against, and Emma, Abe, and Gloria filled up one of the sofas. 

On the other sofa sat Miss Peregrine and someone Enoch didn't recognize. She was young - couldn't be more than 6 or 7 - with wide eyes that showed her nervousness. Golden ringlets cascaded down her head, a pink bow perched on the top. With her hands folder on her lap, she kicked her legs over the edge of the sofa, her frilly pink dress swishing out as she did.

"Children," Miss Peregrine addressed the awaiting audience, "I'd like you to meet Claire. She will be joining our household." She gave the young girl a reassuring smile.

"Welcome Claire." Emma spoke in a gentle voice. "I'm sure you will love it here."

"Of course she will," The Bird nodded, "Now everyone, please introduce yourselves." 

They each went around stating their names and peculiarities. Enoch was the last to go.

"M'name's Enoch," he grunted. Everyone waited for him to say more, but he kept silent. 

Over the years, he'd received many poor reactions when telling people his peculiarity. This girl was so young and innocent, he didn't want to terrify her by informing her that he could raise the dead. She'd figure it out on her own eventually.

"Alright children," Miss Peregrine spoke once she realized Enoch would say no more, "Go back to your playing and your chores while I help Claire settle in." She instructed, starting to rise.

"Wait," Milliard spoke up, "What is her peculiarity?" 

The headmistress turned to Claire, "Would you like to show them?"

The little girl looked down at her lap, her curls bouncing as she shook her head. 

"You don't have to be afraid," Fiona encouraged, "We are all strange here."

Again, Claire refused, looking much too shy. 

"Claire will show her peculiarity in her own due time. Now off with you all," Miss Peregrine waved them away, then took Claire by the hand, leading her out. 

As they passed by, Claire slipped Enoch a small smile, a sweet gesture, and he couldn't help but smile back. 

She was so young. So innocent. So naive. 

He knew she reminded him of someone, but thinking about it made his chest tighten. 

The arrival of Claire flooded his mind with memories of his little sister.

Memories he didn’t wish to recall.


	3. Chapter 3

The long way home from school was always the most interesting. His mother would call it dawdling but he preferred the term "exploring." Rather that take the straightforward walk from school though town to get home, Enoch enjoyed taking the path less traveled. As the other children continued on their way passing by the shops and houses, he ventured off the pavement on a trail he blazed. 

A line of towering tangled trees marked the entrance to the woods. On the other side was the more remote part of his village - small houses with thatched roofs and rolling grass fields of grazing livestock. 

Although he lived closer to the main town by his parent's funeral parlor, he liked to cut through the woods and rural pastures for the fresh surroundings. It was much more interesting than passing the same shop windows day after day.

Fog slithered through the maze of trees, the humidity high on the grey afternoon. Just by stepping underneath the canopy of leaves, the temperature dropped, goosebumps prickling his arms. Enoch pulled his coat tighter around him. 

It was creepy but he wasn't scared of the forest, like many of the other boys and girls in town were. In fact, he liked the chilling atmosphere. The dimness from the covered sun, the shadows that seemed to flicker, and the distant sound of trickling water caused his heart rate to pick up with a sense of thrill. Occasionally, there would be the sudden flap of wings or snap of a branch that would make him jump, but he never felt too fearful of the woods. 

Along his way, he would find some  treasures every once and a while. A fallen bird here, a croaked toad there, or maybe even turned over squirrel. When he would find these rare carcasses, he would scoop up the limp body with gentle hands and place it in his school bag. 

He'd started quite the collection back at home, a bundle of glass jars hidden underneath his bed. He wasn't exactly sure what he would do with them all but he felt drawn to the odd assortment.

Scanning the forest floor of dirt and mud, he looked for any new finds since the last time he had made this trek. So far, nothing. He couldn't help but feel a little bit of disappointment. It wasn't everyday he would find a dead animal but he was always hopeful. 

As the light of the other side began to peek through the trees, he was ready to give up for the day. He would come back tomorrow to see if there were any changes. 

Enoch emerged on the village road, across from a small white stone building. The chimney billowed with smoke, adding another grey cloud to the dull sky. 

He prayed that it wouldn't start raining as he followed the road back towards his side of town. His parents wouldn't be too happy if he showed up sipping wet again. They had told him off numerous times for his walks in the woods but the pull of the forest was too great for him to obey. 

Clutching on to the shoulder straps of his bag as he walked, he admired the pasture of cows across the road. The beefy beasts munched on grass, their tails swinging back and forth, swatting At flies. They paid no mind to him or the threatening clouds above. All they cared about was their meal.

While he watched the cows, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eyes. He glanced over to a grey and white lump in the middle of the road. 

Curious he ran over to the mass without bothering to look both ways. It wasn't a busy road, as the surroundings were just fields and a few houses. Many of the rural villagers couldn't even afford cars.

As he approached the lump, he realized it was an animal - or at least it was at some point. What was left of the fur pelt blew slightly in the breeze. Enoch could just make out that the mangled mess had once been a badger by the white stripe down its center. Now, a tread mark ran through it, squished to death by a passing car tire. 

Enoch felt a bit saddened. The poor badger had been brutally killed and he couldn't even take it home with him. It was much too bloody to pick up, its squished guts spilling out onto the street. What a waste. 

He started to turn away and leave the roadkill there, when something grabbed his attention. Amongst the flattened muck and fur, a ball of red peeked out from under some of the pelt.

Kneeling over the body, which was already being colonized by flies, Enoch pulled out a ruler from his school bag. Reaching out, he prodded at the body, moving the pelt so he could see what was underneath. 

The badger heart laid there, miraculously still intact and untouched. 

Enoch's eyes widened, his own heart beating heavily inside his chest. He'd never seen the inside of a dead body like this before - only some photographs and drawings in science class. 

Using the ruler, he started to roll the heart out of the body and over to him. He wasn't sure if he should touch it. It looked gross, covered in slime and old blood. But he decided that he wouldn't be able to properly examine it if he didn't get his hands dirty. 

With great care, he picked up the heart, holding it in the palm of his hand. He stared at the mass of purple-red muscle that stained his skin red with the bloody residue. 

Enoch felt a sense of awe overcome him. In his hand was something that once gave a being life. A source of power and strength. 

As if responding to his thoughts, the heart seemed to pulse. One solid beat in the center of his hand.

Enoch jumped, almost dropping the heart entirely. It stayed still in his hand, not beating again. 

Did he just imagine it? The heart couldn't have moved on its own. It wasn't attached to anything, no brain or veins. There was nothing to give it life and no reason for it to beat. 

It had to have been a trick on his mind, Enoch decided, still a bit rattled. He no longer wanted to hold in his bare hand, so he dug through his bag and pulled out his lunch box. Dumping the remainder of his lunch into the bottom of his bag, he placed the heart inside of the metal box for safe keeping. He moved out of the road, picking up some moss and grass to pad the box so the heart wouldn't roll around or get damaged. 

His pace quickened for the rest of his journey home. He wanted to get the heart in a jar as soon as he could to add it to his collection. 

Without even saying hello to his family, he went straight to the kitchen to grab another glass jar from the cabinet. 

"Enoch?" His mother questioned, noticing he was home. 

He didn't respond, already making his way to his bedroom. Shutting the door behind him, he put his bag on the ground by his bed, sitting on the floor next to it. He began to twist the jar lid, struggling to unscrew it with his little hand. 

There was a soft knock on the door before his mother opened it without waiting for a response.

"Enoch, have you been taking all my jars?" She asked, having noticed them disappearing from where she stored them. She had spotted him running off with one in his hands when he came home.

As soon as she stepped in the room, her face twisted in disgust. Vile fumes invaded her breath coming from somewhere in the room.

"What on earth is that _horrible_ smell?" She sounded appalled.

Enoch froze, his eyes darting to the bed where his treasures lay hidden. It had been almost a month since he found the dead bird and he'd grown accustomed to the smell it gave off.

He didn't answer his mother, his hands still firmly on the jar. He just stared at her pretending he didn't notice anything off. 

Pinching her nose, his mother called for her husband over her shoulder, "Come into your son's room," she instructed when he came to see what was the matter.

He moved to stand next to her, hitting the same wall of stench. His head knocked back as if someone had punched him. 

" _Shit!_ ” He exclaimed.

Enoch's eyes flew open wide. His father was known for having a ditty mouth but very rarely did he let a curse slip in front of his young children.

His mother shot her husband a glare but didn't blame him for his reaction.

Without a second thought, his father began to tear the room apart to search for the source of the smell. His mother soon followed his lead, moving his toys out of the way and opening all his drawers. 

"Did something die in the walls?" His father thought out loud to himself.

Enoch remained on the ground, not daring to move. He didn't want his parents to find the jars he had stashed under the bed.

But it was no use. 

His father approached the bed, preparing to push it aside to see if anything had rotted underneath.

Enoch jumped in front of him as a last resort, "No!" He shouted, holding his arms out in an attempt to block him.

His father raised an eyebrow, knowing his son was hiding something, "Step aside, Enoch." 

Enoch refused to budge. Unfortunately for him, his father was much bigger and stronger, and easily lifted him up, moving him out of the way. 

Pushing the bed aside, a small city of jars was revealed. 

His mother let out a shriek when she saw all of the rotting animals, instinctively grabbing her son and pulling him closer to her. 

His father stepped back, unsure of how to react, " _Bloody hell_..." he muttered, rubbing his head.

Enoch burst into tears. He didn't want to get in trouble but, more importantly, he didn't want to loose his collection that he'd put so much hard work into. 

His father bent down, inspecting the jars of all shapes and sizes. Each was filled with a variety of little animals- all dead and decaying. He lifted one up and found him staring face to face with at least a dozen glassy eyes frogs, piled onto one another.

Feeling slightly sick, he turned around to face his son, who was blubbering under his mother's arms.

"What is the meaning of all of this?!" He shouted, throwing his arms out in frustration.

Enoch couldn't find an answer, gasping for wheezy breaths. 

With a lunge, his father grabbed his ear, pulling him away from his mother and dragging out of the room.

Yelping in pain, Enoch was forced into a seat at the kitchen table.

" _Stay_ ," his father ordered, his voice hoarse with anger. Trembling, snotty nosed, and wet faced, Enoch didn't dare disobey. 

The next ten minutes were filled with the sound of shattering glass as his father threw every single jar and rotting carcass into the garbage bin. Then he moved them all outside, as far away from the house as he could to later take to the dumping grounds. 

Enoch chest was wracked by sobs as he watched his animals be taken away, one by one. All those weeks of searching, collecting, and sorting only to be thrown away by his parents in a matter of minutes. 

Enoch stayed put as his parents convened in the lounge, speaking in hushed tones that he could still catch some of.

"It's not normal," his father's voice said.

"Maybe he had a reason," his mother spoke.

"We should take him to see a doctor."

"Just give him a chance to explain."

They both came in a few moments later. They stood over him - his parents had never looked so towering and threatening. 

His father crossed his arms, waiting for Enoch to explain his actions.

Sniffling, Enoch tried to come up with a reason that his parents would believe or understand. He himself didn't really know where his fascination with the dead animals had come from. But he knew they were special to him. It was something his parents would never fully get.

"I- I just wanted to be like you!" Enoch began, speaking slowly, trying to steady his shaking voice. 

His mother's head tilted to the side, "What do you mean?"

Enoch took a deep breath, "You take care of dead people. I wanted to do the same but with the animals I found outside." It wasn't a complete lie.

His parents exchanged a look. His mother bent down to kneel in front of him. She looked him in the eyes placing a soft hand on his knee.

"Enoch, I appreciate the thought but animals aren't like people. When they die, their bodies should stay outside - where they belong." She explained to him, keeping her voice calm and comforting.

His father cleared his throat, "We are adults and professionals, we know how to deal with bodies. You're just a child and shouldn't be playing around with dead animals. You should be playing with toy soldiers or a football."

Enoch felt his hand clenching. He hated being told he was a child. He was eight years old now, much more mature that a _real_ child, like his baby sister.

"It's not normal for you to collect dead animals. The kids at school with think you're a freak and won't want to be friends with you," his father told him bluntly. 

"Albert..." his mother looked at him with a frown, giving him a stern glare.

"What? It's true!" He defended. "I don't want my son getting picked on because of a grotesque obsession."

Enoch stared down at his lap, feeling upset. He knew the kids at school found him to be a bit odd but he couldn't help who he was. He always thought he would find someone who understood him eventually. He couldn't be the only one who found death so interesting.

Turning back to face her son, his mother wiped a tear from his cheek, "Honey, we love you and want the best for you. But no more collecting dead animals, okay? If you see one, stay away. They are meant to stay on the ground."

"Am I in trouble?" He asked in a meek voice.

His father opened his mouth to answer but his mother started first, "Not this time. Just don't let us see you with anymore dead animals. And stay away from the jar cupboard, okay?" She added.

Enoch nodded, although he knew it was a promise he could not keep.

His father huffed, "Go back to you room and open a window. That room's going to take weeks to air out!" He muttered, turning on his heel and leaving the room with a shake of his head.

Enoch ran off to his bedroom, doing as his father told him. 

He stared at the space under his bed that was now bare. His shoulders fell, as if a heavy weight had started to pull them down. 

Then he noticed his school bag, still sitting on the floor. A spark of hope lit inside of him as he scrambled to open it and pulled out his tin lunch box. With a click of the latch, he let out a sigh of relief.

Sitting there, protected by clumps of moss, was the badger heart, not scratched or bruised. 

A smile slipped onto his lips as he closed the box and put it back into his bag for later.


	4. Chapter 4

Sometimes Enoch wished he was a normal kid. 

On the occasion he found himself leaving the children's home to visit the town of Cairnholm, he always watched the people go about their daily lives.

They had no clue what he could do - or that peculiars even existed at all. To them, the most peculiar happening was when a local drunkard didn't visit the pub one day. 

Their lives were completely ordinary - and Enoch was jealous of that. 

If he was normal, he'd probably still be living in his village in Scotland. He may be finishing school, or working at his parents funeral parlor, which was surely busy the past few years. Maybe he would even be fighting in the war, himself. 

If he were normal, he wouldn't have had to deal with being an outcast back home. He would have had friends - maybe even a relationship. He would have great memories of joking around in school, playing football in the fields, or drinking too much with his mates. 

But he wasn't normal.

Instead, he got stuck with a power that no one really desired. He was seen as a freak by his classmates and grew up alone. He was terrorized by monsters and forced to leave his parents... and his sister. 

Everything would have been much better for him if he weren't born with the ability to raise the dead - Or if he weren't born in the first place.

But here he was, peculiarity and all. 

Today, Enoch had been sent by Miss Peregrine to purchase some pork for dinner, but he took the visit as a chance to get some time alone. He was always surrounded by children at the home and sometimes longed to get some time away from them all. 

Taking his time as he trekked down to the village, he passed fields of sheep, farmers toting their wares on horse and cart, and a small group of kids playing rugby in a muddy clearing. 

He often found himself watching the kids on the island. There weren't many, other than those living in the children's home, but there were still a fair few that he often saw around the town. Some appeared to be around his age but he had never once talked to them. Most of the island kids avoided the children living in the home. They knew that the children were different - they just didn't know how.

Sometimes, as he passed by small groups of them, he wished they would come talk to him. Maybe ask him to join them in a game of football or go to a party. But that was never the case. Usually he just got stared down by the Welsh natives until he left to go back to the the children's home. 

Entering the main part of town, few people seemed to pay him any mind. They either recognized him as one of the kids who lived in the home, or just didn't bother enough to care who he was. They went about with their shopping, chatted with their neighbors, or stumbled back from the pub. 

A bell chimed as he entered the butcher shop. 

The butcher, a heavy older man with a scruffy black beard, emerged from the back room, wiping his bloody hands on the already stained apron.

"Chicken blood," he assured the patron who he'd come to help.

But Enoch wasn't bothered by the blood. It wasn't something that he hasn't seen before. 

If he weren't peculiar and fated to live in a loop all his life, maybe he would have been a butcher. That is, if he didn't decide to follow in his parents footsteps as an undertaker. He already knew most of the skill required to butcher animals, it wouldn't be too difficult. Maybe, if he reached his 18th birthday before Miss Peregrine made the loop, he would ask to get a job.

"What can I get yeh?" The butcher asked him, leaning his hairy arms against the counter.

"Pork loin," Enoch answered, "enough for 12."

The butcher gave him a nod, "Six pounds should do the trick." 

He reached into the display case of various meats, selecting the right one. He lugged the flank of pork, slamming it on a wooden table and pulling out a cleaver to cut off the right amount. 

As he hacked away on the meat, he began to chat with Enoch, "Yer one o' those kids from the children's home aren't yeh?"

"Yes," Enoch answered, knowing it would be no use pretending he wasn't. The island was too small, everyone who lived in town knew everyone. Plus, his Scottish accent was a dead giveaway.

"Don't see much of yeh round town. What do yous' all do up there?" 

Enoch hated being interrogated, "I dunno. What do you all do down here?" He spoke with a hint of bitterness. It was a rhetorical question. God knew this island was as interesting as a blade of dry grass. 

The butcher let out a hearty laugh, not realizing Enoch wasn't joking around, "Well yeh got a point there. Yer a funny lad, aren't yeh? Smart mouth on yeh." He gave Enoch a toothy grin, bringing the pork over the scale. 

"I suppose you could interpret it that way." Enoch said in a dry tone.

The butcher let out another chortle, although Enoch couldn't figure out what was so funny to him. 

"Yeh ever been off the island? - O' cors' yeh 'ave, you're a Scot for Christ's sake," he quickly answered his own question. "Well, when yer old 'nuff, yeh should get out o' here. Yeh'd do great out there, kid. Not enough of the kids round here ever make it off these here shores. Dreary existence here, really. But yeh could do it, I bet." He said, pointing a meaty finger out at him.

Enoch wished he could. But he knew it would never happen. He would live on the island longer than any of the locals ever could.

"Perhaps," Enoch spoke softly, glancing out at the distant waves. Somewhere out there, maybe hundreds of kilometers away, was his true home. 

A home he could never return to.

"How old are yeh?" The butcher asked him, bringing Enoch attention back to him. He watched as the butcher began to wrap up the pork in brown paper, tying it together with a piece of twine.

"Sixteen," Enoch answered. 

The butcher nodded, pursing his lips in thought, "Hmmm, yeh know I got a niece round yer age living on the mainland. I ought teh get yeh in touch with her." He finished with a heavy lidded wink, making a clicking noise with his mouth. 

And that was when Enoch knew it was time for him to leave, not wishing to be set up with a random Welsh girl. 

He paid for the pork, throwing the package in a bag Mrs Peregrine had given him. He started towards the door when he had a thought and turned around.

"Do you happen to have any leftover bones I could have?" Enoch inquired to the butcher, who had started to clean his cleaver.

"Bones?" He blinked, "What yeh be needing with old bones?" 

Enoch came up with a quick excuse, "For our dog. Up at the home." He added.

He butcher nodded, putting down the knife, "I can see what I got out back. What'cher dog's name?" 

"Ehrm..." Enoch panicked, spouting the first thing that came to mind, "Spot."

The butcher laughed, "A'right then. I'll see what I can get for Spot." 

He disappeared into the back room, reemerging with a clattering sack, "Here yeh go, lad."

"Thanks," Enoch accepted the sack, his mind already wandering to all the possibilities it held.

"Yeh take care now," The butcher said with a short wave as Enoch exited. 

Bags in hand, Enoch stepped back outside. He glanced up at the sun, squinting into the blinding light. He wasn't quite ready to return to the home just yet. There were still a few hours of daylight left, he could spare a few minutes out by himself. 

He made his way toward the shore. He stopped at a decaying wooden hut that rested uninhabited by a towering old beech tree. He pushed in the door, which opened with a crunch of wood and metal. He left his bags on an old dusty table inside, then found the hidden path in back of the shack.

The path was winding, slightly grown over by long, dry grass. He trampled over it, reaching one of his favorite spots on the island.

The cove was silent, other than the soothing rush of waves against the sand. It was no paradise - the water a bit murky, the sand too gravely, and shadowed by a hill - but it was empty and secret. 

He'd stumbled upon this spot a few weeks into his stay at Miss Peregrine's. Back then, he left the house often to get away from it all and clear his head. He needed a place to be alone and he found it here, at the hidden cove. 

He fell back into the sand, not caring if it got in his hair or not. Closing his eyes, he rested, listening to the sound of the ocean. There was the occasional caw of an overhead gull or the rush of wind through the brush, but not a man made noise in earshot.

While he was not able to use his secret beach during the winter months or rainy days, it was the perfect place for a day like this. It was still early spring, but warm enough to just wear a light coat. The sun was hidden by some clouds but they weren't threatening to rain. 

It gave him time to think more. While this was normally a good way to get things off his chest, today his head was flooded by ' _what if's_.'

What if he had a different peculiarity? Would he get along with the other children better? Or was his personality just naturally grumpy and closed off?

What if he grew up in a different family? One that wasn't surrounded by dead bodies. Where would he be then? 

What if he was normal? Would he still be, well, him? Who would Enoch O'Connor be without the ability to raise the dead? Would he still feel the same or would he be truly happy?

What if the incident that brought him to Miss Peregrine never happened? If he had just done something a little different to change the outcome? What if he were the one that was killed instead of — 

Enoch jerked up, his eyes flying open.

That was enough for today. He scrambled to stand up, brushing the sand off of his clothes. Then he made his way back up to collect the bags from the shack.

Normally, the cove was his safe little hideaway. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't hide from his own thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

Cradled in a bed of moss, the heart sat still and lifeless. A few days old now, it's vibrant red color faded slightly to a greying pink. 

Enoch stared at the heart, which he'd kept secretly contained in his tin lunch box. He didn't know what he intended to do with it, only that he couldn't part with it, no matter what his parents said. 

With a sigh, he closed the box, making sure it was properly latched. Carrying it with the handle, he marched out of his bedroom to find one of his parents.

He found his mother in the lounge listening to a radio program as Lucille slept. The little girl's dark curls splayed out on her mother's chest, her head rising and falling slightly with every breath their mom took. But she remained in a peaceful slumber, her thumb still in her mouth.

"Mum?" Enoch poked his head in the room.

"Shh," she immediately hushed him, pointing to his sleeping sister.

"I'm going out to play," he informed her, lowering his voice a bit. 

His mother glanced at the clock, then nodded, "Be back before sundown, please." 

Once outside, he started making his way down the street. 

His neighborhood was alive with activity on the sunny Saturday. Couples strolled down the sidewalk with babies in carriages or dogs on leads. Two little girls skipped rope in their driveway. A game of football had broken out in the street between a group of older boys. 

The game looked like fun but Enoch had more important things on his mind. He gripped the handle of his lunch box tighter, trying not to jostle it around too much. It was toting precious cargo.

The activity of the neighbors faded gradually as he strayed from the comfort of his street.

He stood at the edge of the forest, the trees shadowing him from the sun the burned bright over the rest of the village. Without a second thought, he headed under the canopy and deeper into the darkness. 

Stepping over roots and weaving though brush and trees, he began his usual scan of the forest floor. There were plenty of stick, dead leaves, and patched of moss but nothing yet that caught his eye

His parents had told him to stay away from dead animals but he knew he couldn't. He was too intrigued by them, his fascination only fueled by the heart that remained in the box he carried. All he wanted was to find more and build up his collection again. But this time, he'd know better than to keep it in his bedroom - or in his house al all. He'd find a hiding spot. Somewhere out here in the woods where he could bury his findings to keep them safe and secret. 

Every step he took was slow and cautious, not wanting to overlook any inch of the ground in case something showed up. Forests were filled with life which meant there was also plenty of death. Things changed over time - by the year, by the day, by the minute - so there was always something new to discover.

After a good amount of time searching - he'd lost track of the minutes during his intense focus - he finally located something lying in the dirt. With its brown skin and dark speckles, he almost hasn't seen it, camouflaged in its natural surroundings. 

He picked up the little newt, laying it in his palm. It was still a bit slimy but dead, he confirmed. With a satisfied grin, he placed the lifeless newt beside the heart in his lunch box.

Enoch continued through the woods, searching but finding nothing more. When he reached a clearing, he glanced up at the sky. The sun was no longer clearly overhead, the blue starting to dim ever so slightly. He decided to call it a day so he would be home on time and avoid getting in anymore trouble with his parents. 

Doing a little spin, he took note of his surroundings. The clearing was a bumpy oval shape, outlined by trees and overgrown bushes. In the very center of the clearing stood a tall pine tree, the only one in the radius of the oval. The tree had rained needles beneath it that had turned to a crisp orange. The clearing seemed like a good place to store his collection. 

Picking up a stick, he drew an 'E' in the dirt below the large tree, marking his territory. It was a temporary place holder until he could return with his father's pocket knife and carve his name in the tree's study trunk. 

Using both his bare hands and the edge of the stick, he began to dig a hole in the soft dirt. He made note to bring a shovel next time, as twigs poked into his fingers and grains of sand got stuck under his fingernails. 

Sweat beaded on his forehead and his back was growing sore from bending over the hole for so long. Finally, he sat straight again, the hole big enough to burry his lunch box. He used his hand to wipe away the sweat, the dirt staining his skin as it brushed over his face. 

Picking up his lunch box, he kept his hands as steady as he could as he lowered it into the hold.

The tin box reminded him of a coffin, descending into the earth, like at the funerals his parents orchestrated. He, himself, had become an expert on the proceedings, having been to many of them before. First was his grandmother's, then his great uncle's, and soon his parents began to drag him along to their work during the summer or on weekends when he wasn't at school and there was no one who could watch him. 

Like the caskets from the funeral home, the tin lunch box also held pieces of the dead - the newt and the heart. The only thing this funeral lacked were the people dressed in black, dabbing their tears with hankies. 

Enoch felt obligated to say a few words, like the speeches he'd heard so many times before.

He cleared his throat, as all the dignified men did at before addressing a crowd, "Newt, I'm sure you lived a good life here in the forest before you died. And you too, badger. Until you were squished and killed in the road. But I found your heart, so it's worked out well in the end. Well, except for you, I suppose." He finished, satisfied with his eulogy to the dead animals. 

Scooping up the dug up dirt from the pile beside him, he started to fill the hole back up again. The patch of loose dirt would make it easy to find where he had hidden it.

Turning around, he found his way back through the forest to head home. It was much faster when he didn't take the extra time to search for animals. 

The forest was took up a large amount of land but Enoch had mastered the way in and out of the trees. As long as he knew what direction he'd come from, he knew which way to go. Once he reached the other side by the street, he could find his way home. 

He'd even started to pick out landmarks he encountered on his trips. There was the rock with moss that covered only one side, the tree with two burls that looked like eyes, and the stream that always overflowed after a rainy day. Using these, he found it easier to navigate out and close to his house. 

He has just passed the fallen tree whose roots sprawled out in the air, when he heard a rustle in the bushes nearby. He jumped, head jerking over to see what had caused the sound. But it was only a squirrel, scampering past. He immediately felt foolish - there was nothing dangerous in this forest.

He was immediately proven wrong when his toe jammed against something. He toppled over it, his hands hitting the muddy ground as he let out a grunt " _oomph!_ ”

Getting back on his feet, he inspected himself for any damage. Other than sore hands, he seemed to be fine.

He turned to see what had tripped him, expecting to see a root he'd been too distracted to notice. But what he saw was not a root at all. Instead, it was something black that seemed to be covered in hair. Enoch blinked, startled to see that he hadn't tripped over anything from the forest but, in fact, a cat. 

He got on his knees, giving the cat a soft poke to it's side. It didn't move. It's chest didn't rise and it's ears didn't twitch. 

What was a dead cat doing in the forest? Enoch wondered if it was a stray. 

After his moment of confusion, he became filled with excitement. He'd never stumbled upon any animal as big as the cat before. The badger has come close but it had been too mutilated to count. This cat seemed to be in perfect shape, not a scratch in sight. No blood or bite marks. It must have died from old age or a hidden sickness.

Enoch took this as a sign of good fortune, as he picked up the cat's body. It was heavier than he expected, as it was large for an average house cat, made twice the size by the amount of fur it sported. 

Tracing his footsteps, he ran back to the clearing to add the cat to his collection. He quickly discovered that he lunch box would not be able to hold the large cat, so he began to dig another hole next to the freshly turned soil where the tin was buried. 

Placing the black cat in the grave, he realized that he couldn't fill the hole up again or it would be too dirty and hard to dig back out. He scanned the clearing and found a rock large enough to place over the hole. Tomorrow he'd return with a box big enough to bury that cat in. 

Wiping the dirt on his trousers, he looked back up at the sky. The blue was starting to face into a pale pink. If he wasn't home soon, he'd be in the doghouse for sure. 

He took off running, zooming around trees and jumping over small ledges until he reached the edge of the woods. Slowing his pace back to a normal walk, he caught his breath and continued back to his street. 

The sun was on the verge of setting, and cars pulled into the driveways as adults arrived home from work in time for dinner. Parents called out the window, summoning their kids inside to wash up and the neighborhood began to settle in for the evening. 

The streets were quieting down. The football match had long since ended and everyone went inside to eat with their families. Only two people remained up ahead of Enoch on the sidewalk. 

A man and a little boy stood in front of a telephone poll, posting a sheet of paper to it with a pin. When it was secured, they continued on down the street in Enoch's direction. 

The man wrapped his arms around the boy's shoulders. The boy, who couldn't have been much older than five, bowed his head, clutching more papers tight to his chest.

Enoch listened in on their conversation as they passed, the man speaking in a soothing voice to the boy.

"It's okay Bentley, I'm sure we'll find him." 

The boy nodded, still unconvinced, with a few sniffles. 

Enoch wondered what the boy was so sad about. As he approached, he stopped in front of the telephone pole where they had left the flyer.

The bold letters at the top read "LOST CAT" followed by he contact information for the family. 

Enoch's heart sank as he noticed the picture below the words. Scribbled in black crayon was a child's interpretation of a cat with four lines for legs and a pink nose and ears. 

Enoch looked back and the boy and his father, who were cresting over the hill, then to the tree line off in the distance. The cat he found in the woods must have been theirs - it had to be. There was no other reason an black cat, identical to one that had gone missing, would turn up amongst the trees. 

He thought of the body, lying underneath the rock, limp and lifeless. Part of him wanted to run back and uncover it to return the remains to the family. He knew that was the right thing to do. He imagined that they'd want to have a proper send off for their furry friend, like how people held funerals for their family members.

But he also knew that his parents would not be happy with him staying out in the dark alone - especially if they found out he'd gone into the woods. 

With a swift decision, he ripped the flyer down the the pole, stuffing it into his coat pocket. Tomorrow he'd go back to unearth the cat and bring it to the family. 

Just as he promised, the next day he woke up bright and early and prepared for his trip back to the woods. 

"Someone's anxious to get going," His father noted as Enoch shoveled porridge in his mouth at lightning speed. 

"Careful you don't choke," his mother warned, placing Lucille's breakfast in front of her. 

Enoch swallowed the lump of oats, responding to his father, "I'm just excited to go outside to play." He told him, which wasn't a complete lie.

"Oh?" His father raised an eyebrow looking at him over his newspaper, "Play with whom?"

"My friend," Enoch fibbed, spooning more porridge in his mouth.

His mother looked intrigued as she sat down in the chair beside him to eat her own breakfast. Her son had never mentioned any friends before. She couldn't held but feel a little bit of elation. She'd often worried he wasn't developing enough socially.

"A friend? Who is your friend?" She asked.

"Um," Enoch said the first thing that came to mind, thinking back to the forest, "Newt."

Blinking, she tried to recall any children on the street with that name, "Do I know him?" She'd think she'd remember a boy called Newt.

Enoch shook his head, "No. He lives in the village by the woods. On a farm." He made up, adding details to make it more convincing.

"Oh," his mother nodded. She wanted to ask more questions but Enoch had already jumped out of his seat and grabbed his coat from the rack.

"Can I borrow your pocket knife, dad?" He asked, using his best pleading eyes. "Newt's dad wants to teach us to carve." He was getting pretty good at this whole lying thing.

His mother seemed concern, looking across the table at her husband.

But he just shrugged, "I don't see why not. As long as you're safe and don't loose it." 

"I won't!" Enoch assured him with a beaming smile.

With a sigh, his mother shook her head but didn't argue.

Grabbing the knife, he tucked it away in his pocket next to the missing cat flying and ran out the door. Passing the flower beds in front of his house, he paused when he noticed his mother's gardening trowel lying in the dirt. Thinking it might come in handy if he needed to dig another grave, he picked it up to take with him.

It didn't take him long to find the clearing again, as it was rather large and he remembered the way from the day before. He stood over his burial grounds facing the tree to find the perfect spot to make his mark.

Pulling the knife out of its case, he chipped away at the coarse bark. He carved his name in bumpy letters to show that this was his tree and only his. Taking a step back, he placed his hands on his hips and admired his work. 

Then, he got down to business. Lifting the rock off the shallow grave, he found the cat exactly how he's left it. He pulled it out, placing it softly on the ground. He knew it was dead and couldn't feel anything but he still worried about hurting it in any way. He wanted to return it to the family in the best possible condition.

He pulled out the flyer from his pocket, glancing from the child's drawing to the cat that lay before him. While the image wasn't the most realistic, it was certainly the cat pictured. 

Enoch's heart suddenly felt heavy as he thought back to the little boy he'd passed on the street. He didn't want to imagine his face when he arrive at their door carrying the limp body of their beloved pet. 

It was that moment that Enoch started to understand the pain of loosing something - or someone - well loved. He knew it was only natural but he wished their was something he could do to make things better. 

A strange thought popped into Enoch's head. It was crazy. It wasn't possible. But yet he couldn't help but want to try. 

Gripping the his mother's trowel, he began to dig up the soft dirt where his lunch box was buried. He pulled it out, brushing off the soil before opening it. 

In it lied his most prized possession. The badger heart always seemed to take his breath away, causing his own heart to pound with excitement. 

He looked at the heart then to the dead cat beside him. It would never work but yet something seemed to be pushing him to do it. A silent urge persuaded him to continued.

Opening the knife once more, he laid the cat flat on its back. As if a surgeon had possessed him, his hand moved to side the knife down the underside of the animal, moving the fur out of the way the best he could. He cut a small slit into its chest, just enough to fit his hand.

Catching his first glimpse at the inside of a body, Enoch grimaced, having to turn away for a moment. Half of him was repulsed by the innards, knowing it was abnormal to view the inside of an organism like this. What was inside was meant to stay inside. But the other half of him was curious, wanting to see more. 

He turned back to get a good look at the cat's organs. Forgetting the task at hand, he examined the insides, which looked nothing like the colorful drawings in his science textbook. He'd seen plenty of dead bodies before, but never the inside of one.

It wasn't until he noticed a ball of red in the cat's chest that he remembered why he'd cut open the cat in the first place. He reached into his lunch box, pulling out the heart with delicate hands, as if it were his mother's fine China. He blew flecks of dirt and moss off of it before he used his other hand to pull back the cat's skin to widen the opening. 

' _What am I doing?_ ‘ Enoch realized he must be going mad. This would never work and he was silly to even believe it would for a second. 

There was no turning back now. The cat was already opened and the heart already in his hand.

Squeezing one eye shut, so he wouldn't have to watch but could still see what he was doing, he placed the badger heard inside the cat's body. He held back the urge to gag as his skin brushed something slimy. 

As soon as the heart felt secure in the cat, he retracted his hand as fast as he could, desperately wishing he had brought a bar of soap. 

Scooting back from the cat's limp body, he waited for a moment. He held his breath, hardly even remembering to blink at he watched the cat hoping for - well, something. 

The cat didn't stir. Disappointment began to settle in his chest. He'd wasted a good badger heart and ruined his chances of taking the cat back in good condition. 

With a huff he stood, turning around to pick up his supplies. He began to think up excuses as to where he found the cat and how it had been cut open with such precision. Maybe he wouldn't explain at all. He could just leave it in a box on their doorstep and attach a note with his apologies. Somehow that seemed worse.

"Stupid cat," he muttered, beginning to wish he'd never stumbled over it at all. 

' _Mew_ ' A soft noise behind him seemed to respond to him. 

Enoch spun around. The cat was no longer where he'd left it. 

Something brushed against his legs, a soft rumbling at his feet. He looked down to see the fluffy black cat rubbing against his legs and looking up at him with wide eyes. 

Wide eyes that were alive.

_What had he done?_


	6. Chapter 6

By the time he arrived back to the house, the kitchen was already alive as dinner preparations were made. Water bubbled and popped as it boiled and the oven hummed. Enoch passed by a cabbage that was twice the size of his head - a cabbage only Fiona was capable of growing. 

Gloria stood over a wooden cutting board, chopping up some carrots.

Enoch tried to slip in and drop the package of pork off without attracting her attention with no luck. She noticed him before he could even reach the center of the room.

"You're late," She turned away from the carrots to give him a disapproving frown. She leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms.

Enoch shot her a sideways glare then rolled his eyes, "Oh, go to hell," he muttered after checking that Miss Peregrine wasn't anywhere near.

Gloria let out an insulted " _hmph_ ," then pursed her lips, sticking her chin in the air.

"Well, just wait until Miss Peregrine comes back. She'll certainly tell you off." She sneered.

As if summoned, Miss Peregrine appeared in the doorway.   
Gloria quickly shut her mouth and turned back to the cutting board. She peered back at them, a smirk settled on her lips as she waited for him to get in trouble.

"Ah Enoch, I presume you picked up tonight's dinner as I requested?" Miss Peregrine greeted him. He pulled out the wrapped package of pork and handed it to Miss Peregrine.

"Lovely," she nodded floating over to the counter where she unwrapped the meat to begin the preparation.

Unsatisfied, Gloria spun around, "Miss Peregrine, surely you realize Enoch is late! He only just arrived back after almost two hours. Why, if he were a few minutes longer, we might not have dinner ready in time!" She whined.

Miss Peregrine glanced down at her pocket watch as Gloria sent Enoch a sour smile. Enoch made a face at her before quickly turning back to Miss Peregrine as she clicked the cover of her watch closed. 

"Thank you for your concern, Gloria," She said with not an ounce of gratitude, "But by my calculations, Enoch was right on time."

Gloria's smirk fell, "But-" she wanted to protest but there was no arguing with Miss Peregrine's time keeping skills.

"Of course, I factored in the extra hour he took for himself. An older peculiar like him must need a moment away from the children from time to time. It's only natural, right my dear?" She turned to Enoch, reaching out to cup his cheek in maternal adoration. 

"Yes, Miss Peregrine." He agreed. Miss Peregrine always seemed to know more about the him than he cared to share. 

Letting out an indignant huff, Gloria went back to her chore of helping with dinner. 

"Well, I better get started on that pork." Miss Peregrine rubbed her hands together. "Enoch, would you please go let Hugh know it is his turn to set the table tonight. I believe he is in the garden." 

With a nod, Enoch left, feeling satisfied that Gloria hasn't gotten the reaction she had wanted.

He found Hugh in the front garden with Fiona and Bronwyn. They knelt on the edge of a circle drawn in the dirt, playing a game of marbles.

"Enoch!" Fiona exclaimed, noticing the older boy, "Do you want to play?" 

The other children looked up at him with hopeful smiles. It was rare that Enoch joined in on their games but that didn't stop them from asking.

"Miss Peregrine says that it's Hugh's turn to set the table," Enoch delivered the message. 

The kids quickly realized that was all he approached them for. They frowned, knowing it was silly to think Enoch would actually be interested in playing with them.

Part of him felt bad but it just wasn't like him to play with the children. They all knew he preferred to be left alone.

"Fine," Hugh sighed, standing up and brushing the dirt off his knees. He ran ahead towards the house, Enoch trailing behind.

"He's never any fun," Enoch overheard Bronwyn mutter to Fiona as he walked off.

"He's just too old to play games, I guess." Fiona responded.

"But Abe plays with us and he's older than Enoch!" 

Enoch clenched his first, picking up his pace so he wouldn't hear anything more. If there was one thing that bothered him more than anything, it was being compared to Abe.

It didn't help his mood when he noticed Abe sitting by the flower beds across from Emma. Enoch peered over at them from the porch, his lips drawn in a firm line. 

Abe reached over to Emma, brushing a strand of her blonde hair from her face. Then he plucked a little daisy from the bed and tucked it behind her ear as she giggled. A soft blush crept on her cheeks as Abe placed his hand on hers. 

Enoch couldn't watch any longer and moved inside, storming up to his room. 

He was the only one who knew about Emma and Abe's relationship. Not that they kept it particularly hidden but they had never truly told anyone, especially not Miss Peregrine (although Enoch got the feeling she already knew). The other kids had their suspicions, picking up on how they seemed soft for each other, but they were too young to see everything as Enoch did. He had noticed too many of their interactions and overheard too many of their conversations from the room next door. 

Watching the two acting all sweet together made him feel like he had swallowed a stone, a heavy lump in his stomach. He didn't understand why he felt so jealous of them. It wasn't as if he was close friends with either of them. And he certainly didn't like Emma in the way Abe did. In fact, she tended to get on his nerves. Not like Gloria did, but Emma was quite stubborn and always tried to get her way. The two never seemed to get on all that well.

Maybe something inside of him longed for a relationship like Abe and she had.

At sixteen, he felt as though he should have the chance to go steady with someone. Abe was just barely a year older than him, why should he get to fall in love, but not Enoch?

He knew it was because of who they were. As peculiars, they were doomed to live life forever young in a loop. Once it was created, Enoch and the other children would never age another day. It meant he would never get married, never have children, or form a family of his own unless he decided to leave the loop and live in the real world. 

His dating options were limited. The only other peculiar in the household that was near his age was Gloria, and there was no way that would ever happen. There were some other kids in the village, but they avoided Enoch like the plague.

So Enoch would remain single, no matter how hard his heart yearned for someone he could be close to. It seemed unfair. Why would anyone want to be young forever if it meant they could never truly live? Being set up with the butcher's niece was starting to look like a good option.

Enoch stared down at his hands, rough and calloused from long days and nights working. He'd been told before that his peculiarity was a gift that made him special. But his ' _gift_ ' always felt more like a curse. 

He never asked to be different. He never asked for this life. What he'd give to be ordinary...

His eyes traced over the wall of jars and boxes that held various parts and forms of life. Hearts, brains, limbs, carcasses. If a police officer saw his room, he'd be arrested and sent to an asylum for sure. 

Picking up the nearest jar, he peered inside. It empty, only a little bit of murky fluid sloshed on the bottom that once preserved a heart. 

Enoch clenched the jar in his fist, looking over to the shelves on the other side of the room that held many of his creations.

From dead cats to toy soldiers with holes drilled into their backs, there was nothing he couldn't animate. In a cage, a hamster burrowed under some saw dust, living with an old mouse heart that Enoch had given it after it was killed and dropped by a bird in the garden. He'd saved it, stitched its wounds, and brought it back to life. 

Enoch messed with nature. He toyed with death and took control. 

But there were somethings he just couldn't change. 

His eyes fell upon an old stuffed animal on the furthest shelf. The elephant shaped toy was covered in soft purple fluff, that was matted down in the places it was most loved. His sister's favorite toy had remained with him all these years but he refused to touch it and could barely even steal a glance.

Enoch turned away, a throbbing feeling in his head, his teeth clenched tight as he swallowed a lump in his throat.

A rage seemed to spark within him, lighting a fire in his chest. His breath became heavy and his dug his fingernails into his palm.

Why did he have to be born peculiar? Why did his life turn out the way it did? Why was he fated to be so miserable?

" _Argh!_ " He let out an anguished cry, biting back tears.

With a sudden jerking movement, he slammed the jar he was holding down on his work table with a force he didn't know he had in him. The glass shattered under his hand, slicing into the soft skin of his palm. 

" _Fuck!_ ” Enoch shouted the worst curse word that came to mind - one even his father had rarely dared to use. 

He stumbled to the ground, his hand searing in pain. He clutched his wrist with his good hand, wincing as blood pooled in his hand and trickled down his arm. 

Tears spilled out of his eyes as he blinked. Hot tears of both anger and pain. 

There was the thumping of footsteps as someone ran down the hall and burst into the room.

"Enoch, are you alright?" Horace burst in, eyes wide with concern after hearing the commotion. He looked from Enoch's face, which was twisted in pain, to his hand, red with blood.

He stumbled back, a bit woozy, and ran off. Enoch thought that he might have gotten sick again, until he heard him cry down the stairs.

"Miss Peregrine! Miss Peregrine!" Horace shouted, alarming the occupants of the home. 

A thunder of steps filled the house, as everyone ran to see what was the matter. 

Hugh arrived first, followed by Abe and Emma, who still had the daisy tucked behind her ear.

"Oh my word!" Emma gasped in horror, burying her head in Abe's chest. The rest of the children appeared at Enoch's door, jaws dropped in shock. 

At the front of the group was little Claire, clutching a little toy doll. Enoch had hardly met her and this didn't seem like the greatest first impression to give a five year old girl. As if she would need another reason to be scared of him.

Miss Peregrine pushed past the children, running to Enoch's side. She fell to her knees, grabbing his wrist to get a better look at his bloodied hand. 

She turned her head back to the children, "Abe, grab the first aid kit. Hurry!" She said with urgency. "And Victor, please phone the doctor. Take Claire with you." She instructed the boy, who nodded and ran off with the youngest peculiar so she wouldn't have to watch. Miss Peregrine tried to mask her panic as to not frighten the children anymore than they already were.

"My dear boy, what have you done?" Her usual strong voice fell softer, as if the words weight her down as she looked over Enoch's wounds.

Abe ran back in moments later with a white box in his hands. He knelt beside Miss Peregrine, hoping to be of service.

She held her hand open to Abe, her voice serious again, "Tweezers."

He searched through the kit to find them and handed them to her. 

"This is going to hurt, I'm afraid," she warned Enoch, who closed his eyes to brace himself.

Abe tensed as the shards of glass were extracted from Enoch skin. Miss Peregrine kept her hand steady as if she were a practiced nurse. 

Despite her efforts to be as quick and painless as possible, ever movement of glass in his palm felt like his skin was being ripped off piece by piece. Every inhale was sharp and shallow as he breathed through clenched teeth.

"Antiseptic, cotton, and gauze," Miss Peregrine held out her hand again as Abe passed her the supplies. 

In a matter of minutes, she had cleaned up his hand and wrapped it up tightly, in an attempt suppress the bleeding with a great deal of pressure.

She let out a sigh of relief as she finished, wiping her hands on a spare piece of gauze. 

"That will do until the doctor arrives," she told Enoch, rising to her feet. She spun around to the children, awaiting in fear. "Well," she addressed them with a breathy voice, "That is certainly enough excitement for tonight. Now run along and wash up, supper will be ready momentarily." 

The children lingered, not wanting to go off without even reviewing the situation.

"But Enoch-" Emma protested, wanting to know more.

"Enoch is fine," Miss Peregrine forced a smile that usually meant things were not a dandy as she claimed.

Knowing that she would not change her mind, the children turned, walking off slowly , sneaking glances back at them.

Miss Peregrine turned back to the two older boys, who stayed seated on the floor. Her smile had faded into a more firm look.

"Abe, will you please stay with Enoch until the doctor arrives? I'm afraid I must tend to the children. I imagine they are rather shaken up about this whole experience," she said.

Abe nodded, "Of course."

The Bird gave him a small but gracious smile before walking with brisk steps back downstairs to where the children waited.

There was a moment of silence between the boys as Abe inspected the scene, glancing at Enoch's hand and the shattered glass around him. He picked up a large shard of glass and peered through it, closing one eye.

"What on earth did you do?" He asked, slightly in awe of how much damage he caused.

Enoch was always surprised at how well Abe spoke English, considering it was his second language. He spoke as well as any of the other children, only his polish accent made him stand out as different.

He leaned back against the table leg, cradling his sore hand, "It was an accident," he said darkly, not wanting to discuss it with Abe.

"It looked like it hurt quite a lot," Abe noted.

"Just a pinch," Enoch said, his voice laced with sarcasm. 

Abe let out an airy laugh, rolling his eyes, "You're certainly Mr. Tough Guy, aren't you?"

Enoch raised an eyebrow, "I beg your pardon?" 

Abe shrugged glancing out the window, "You act all brooding and mysterious, as if you don't have any range of emotions. You know you're allowed to have feelings right?" 

Enoch narrowed his eyes at him.

"I mean you no offense," Abe raised his hands up, "I'm just saying. You've got lots of people who care about you here. You don't have to shut yourself out all the time."

Enoch didn't understand why Abe cared so much about him all of a sudden. But he hated feeling vulnerable, so he replied with the same bitter tone he always used, "I appreciate your concern, but I'm doing just fine, thank you very much."

Abe shook his head with a chuckle, "I think your bloody hand begs to differ." He nodded to the gauze wrapped around his palm.

"Whatever," Enoch huffed. "You hardly know me, why do you care?" 

Abe shrugged again, "Well to be fair, everyone here hardly knows you. It's not like you talk to us a lot." 

Enoch's eyes fell down to the floor. There was no denying it. He knew he was right.

Seeing Enoch's face, Abe reached out and placed a hand on his good shoulder, "We're your family now, mate. We all do and see some strange things - it's part of being a peculiar. You don't have to hold that all inside you. You're not going through anything alone anymore."

Enoch felt his expression soften and he glanced to Abe's hand on his shoulder.   
Much to Enoch's appreciation Victor appeared at the door. He wasn't sure how he would have replied to Abe's words of wisdom.

"Enoch, the doctor is here," Victor told him, pointing over his shoulder towards the stairs.

Abe retracted his arm and stood, extending it once more to help Enoch off the ground. 

With a hesitant look, Enoch accepted it with his uninjured hand.

Abe walked with him over to where Victor waited to guide him to where the doctor waited.

As they parted, Abe gave Enoch a pat on the back, "Remember what I said, okay?" He raised his eyebrows.

After a moment of consideration Enoch gave him a curt nod, "Yeah, okay."


	7. Chapter 7

With his hand stitched up by the island's resident doctor, Enoch retreated back to his room to clean up the shattered glass on the floor. He skipped supper all together, not wanting to face the rest of the peculiars after that whole fiasco. He could already hear Gloria bugging him about it. 

Sitting cross legged on his bed, he held his arm out in front of him. It was stiff from the wrap the doctor had bound it in and he was only able to move his finger tips. His hand still stung, sore from all of the action it was put through today. 

Although the doctor had advised him not to, Enoch unwrapped his hand to get a look at it. Only the deepest cuts had required stitching, the other ones were promised to heal on their own.  
Much like the stitches he'd learned to use on the bodies and puppets he used and created, his skin was pulled together with lines of thread. It was swollen and slightly purple. He reminded himself of Frankenstein's monster from the films he'd seen when he was younger. He was a monster in a way - just not the kind you'd see in the cinema. 

Careful not to hurt himself more, he wrapped up his hand again. He hoped it would heal quick. He didn't want to be one handed for that long. It would certainly delay his work.

As he finished tying up his hand, there was a soft knock on his door. A short and almost hesitant ' _tap-tap_ '.

"Come in," he grunted, turning his head towards the door. He half expected to see Gloria, ready to gloat or call him clumsy for hurting himself. Or one of the other curious peculiars, like Millard or Horace, to come interrogate him on what had happened. 

But when the door creaked open, Enoch looked down and was surprised to see a little girl all dressed in pink.

"Claire?" He blinked, shifting his body to face her better. 

She gave him a shy smile, her hands held behind her back. Enoch noted at how innocent her eyes appeared. So wide and bright with a twinkle in them. It had been awhile since he'd seen a look like that. In the mirror everyday, all he ever saw was his dark ringed eyes, all dull and practically lifeless. 

"Are you feeling better?" Claire asked, rocking back and forth on her feet. Her voice was soft and delicate, like a gentle breeze through wind chimes.

The corner of Enoch's lips tweaked upwards, "Yeah, a bit." 

Claire smiled a bit more, coming out of her shell ever so slightly. She took a few steps forward into his room.

"I got this for you," She said, "to help you get better." From behind her back, she pulled out a flower - pink of course. Fresh picked and in full bloom, it couldn't have been any more vibrant. 

This time, Enoch smiled for real, something he wasn't used to, "Thank you so much, Claire." He accepted the flower, holding it with his good hand. "I'm starting to feel better already."

That really made her smile and she let out a cheerful giggle. Enoch felt a little bit warmer inside.

"That's awfully kind of you, Claire dear." 

Enoch jumped at the sound of Miss Peregrine's voice. He hadn't even noticed her at the door or knew how long she'd been standing there. 

Claire played with one of her golden curls, still a bit timid around them all. It had only been a week since her arrival. No one except the headmistress even knew the young girl's peculiarity.

"Why don't you join the other children downstairs. I'd like to have a word with Enoch." Miss Peregrine said.

Clair nodded, skipping off to find the others, her pink skirt flouncing around her. 

Enoch's rare smile had already faded into his usual resting face, lips shut tight, brows pulled in. But he held the flower close. It was the only pop of color in his dark room. 

Miss Peregrine took a step inside, opening the door wider and outstretching her arm in a wide waving motion, "Come with me, Enoch dear. I'd like to have a chat." 

Placing the flower on his nightstand, he followed the headmistress as she led him down the stairs and out to the greenhouse. 

Although it was still a bit of winter chill lingering in the air outside, the greenhouse was always as warm as a bright summer's day. It even smelt like summer, a mix of refreshing citrus and the natural scent of soil after a light rain. The plants were in full bloom, sporting luscious leaves and vivid colors. Everything was properly tended to, with help from Fiona of course. 

Miss Peregrine strode to the farthest side of the room, admiring the plants. She reached out, brushing her hand over a palm leaf with s soft smile.

"I've always loved the greenhouse," she began to muse, "It was always a lovely place to escape for a moment. It's just so calming, wouldn't you agree? Being surrounded by nature but yet protected from the unpredictability of the outdoors. Every day of every year, no matter what the weather outside, it is always warm and lively." 

Enoch wasn't sure where she was going with this floral talk. He leaned up against a wooden work bench that held some potted orchids. 

Miss Peregrine turned to face him, looking directly at him with her sharp eyes, "I believe we all need a space like this. Where we feel safe but still free. Don't you think?"

"Yes, I suppose." Even if he didn't think so, he wouldn't dare disagree with the Bird. 

"Do you have a place like this, Enoch?" She asked with a slight cock of her head.

"A greenhouse?" He questioned, glancing around.

"No, no. A place to escape. A place of comfort." She elaborated.

Enoch thought back to his cove down on the island. It was just this afternoon he was there but it already felt so long ago.

"Yes, yes I do." 

Miss Peregrine smiled, "That's lovely to hear. I believe it's important for kids, especially at an age such as yours, to have a place where they can go to be alone and at peace."

"How are you feeling, Enoch?" She asked with very little of a pause before the subject seemed to change.

Enoch looked down to his hand, "Um, a bit sore, if I'm honest."

But Miss Peregrine shook her head, "I don't mean how your hand is. I mean how are _you_ feeling?" She repeated with more emphasis.

Enoch realized what she was on about, "I'm fine, really." 

She wasn't satisfied with that answer, "It is okay to open up. The life of a peculiar is never easy. And neither is one of an adolescent such as yourself."

He didn't really know what to say, "If you're expecting me to tell you my whole tragic backstory, I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint." 

Miss Peregrine knew a lot about all the children in her care. More than they'd even offer to tell her. Enoch knew that she already had heard about where he'd come from and how he got there. He wasn't sure how she found out, as he hadn't told anyone about his childhood, but she just did. It was one of the things that made Miss Peregrine who she was and it helped her keep her household in tip-top shape, inside and out.

To Enoch's surprise, she didn't seem upset by his backlash and not even scolding him for talking back.

"If you do not wish to share, then that is your choice. But just know that holding things in is never going to help you get over what your feeling inside. It is only so long until the pressure builds up too much and it all explodes. So please, try to let some of it out, little by little. It doesn't have to be to me, but we have a whole house full of people ready to listen. We are your family after all." She concluded.

There was that word again. _Family_. Abe had used it as well. 

It was hard for him to swallow the concept of the children being his family. He _had_ a family. Back in Scotland where he grew up. He was happy there, for a while at least. It wasn't until he discovered his peculiar side that his life seemed to tumble downhill. So how could he find comfort in a family brought together by something that caused him such pain? 

He wanted to feel close to them - he really did. But he couldn't get over the thought of home. It was out there, somewhere, with his family still residing. Did they miss him? Did they still think of him? 

Despite his troubled childhood there, it was still where his happiest memories took place. He still remembered every Christmas morning - the traditions they'd upheld every year. He remembered the vacation they took to Brighton when he was ten - where Lucille dropped her ice cream on the pier so he gave her his own. He remembered how every Sunday at exactly three pm, they would gather for Sunday roast - everything homemade by his mother, labored on all morning.

A drop of water fell from the corner of his eye, hitting his cheek. Bringing himself back to the present, he quickly wiped it away with his sleeve, hoping Miss Peregrine hadn't noticed. 

By the look on her face, she had, but she wouldn't say anything. She just stood there with a sympathetic smile on her face. 

"I'm tired," Enoch said suddenly, "I should go." His voice wavered slightly. He didn't want to stay here any longer. He didn't want to remember anything more.

Miss Peregrine respected his choice, "It's been a long day for you. Get some rest." 

He started for the door but she stopped him for a moment.

"Oh and Enoch," she added as he turned his head to look back at her, "Just bear in mind, that there are many layers to all of us. Some good, some bad. But they make us who we are. The more we can accept that, the better life will be."

Enoch didn't quite understand but gave her nod anyways. 

With one final deep breath of the warm fresh air, he stepped back inside and started towards the stairs. 

As he passed the lounge, he hear a chorus of voices and playful giggles. He peered through the door to see the children all gathered, talking and laughing with each other. 

Enoch lingered for a moment, watching them get along, as if they really had grown up together - Like a real family. They were all different ages, from all different places, and all different background, but they were brought together by the fact that they were different. Society often shunned them for their abilities, but homes liked these accepted them. Being peculiar was what they all had in common. 

Enoch shifted slightly, almost convincing himself to join them. But with a glance down at his wrapped hand and a heavy sigh, he turned around and headed back up to his bedroom. Shutting the door behind him, he flopped down on his bed where he'd remain for the rest of the night in a broken sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Enoch stared at the cat.

The cat stared back. _Alive_. Very much alive.

It wasn't possible. The cat had been dead not even five minutes ago. It had been buried in the ground. He had carried its limp body through the woods. When he was first taught about death, his father had been very clear about one thing: the dead don't come back.

Enoch pinched his arm, squeezing his eyes shut. He was dreaming, there was no other explanation. But when he opened his eyes again, the cat was still there, licking its paw as if nothing was off. 

Kneeling down, Enoch stuck out his hand for the cat. But it ignored him, working its rough tongue over the tufts of matted fur. 

"Come here, kitty," Enoch spoke to it, his arm still extended.

The cat froze for a moment, its tongue sticking out, mid lick. It turned its head to him with its round eyes wide, then walked towards his hand. Its whiskers ticked his skin as the cat sniffed him with caution. Its ears pointed back, its dark fur sticking up slightly. Taking a few slow steps back, the cat quickly turned, running off into the trees. 

Enoch jumped up, starting to chase after it. "No! Come back!"

In seconds, the cat was in his sight again, running towards him rather than away. It stopped at his feet, looking up at him with curious yellow eyes.

Enoch took a step back, surprised by the cat's actions, "Did you hear me?" He asked it, knowing it wouldn't responds.

The cat let out a gentle ' _meow_ ', circling around his feet.

Testing his luck, Enoch spoke another order, "Sit."

The cat plonked down where it stood. Could it be a coincidence?

"Speak," Enoch told it.

" _Meow._ "

Enoch's heart beat faster in his chest as he gave one last instruction, a hard one this time, "Dance!"

The cat jumped to its feet, hopping from paw to paw as if on a beat and swaying its head back and forth. Enoch couldn't help but let out a giggle. A dancing cat. _A dancing cat that he could control_.

He wanted to keep going. To try more and more commands to see if they'd work. But he thought back to the flyer and the little boy he'd seen the night before. 

"Follow me," Enoch said and the cat obeyed, trailing behind him as he made his way through the trees. He knew what he had to do.

Using the address written on the flyer, he found the house, a little brick bungalow with green shutters at the other end of his street. The cat followed him obediently.

Enoch stopped in front of the house, kneeling before the cat. Part of him didn't want to give it up. He wanted to take it home and study it. See how it had come to life, what he could make it do, and if it would work again on a different animal. But the thought of the sad little boy wouldn't leave his mind.

"Come here," Enoch said, scooping the cat into his arms. He walked up to the doorstep and knocked.

After a moment, a man opened the door. The same man from the night before. He looked down at Enoch with a flash of confusion before he noticed the cat and his eyes lit up.

"Ashes!" The man gasped. The cat's ears perked at the sound of its name.

"I found your cat," Enoch told the man, holding the ball of fluff up for the man to take.

He turned his head over his shoulder, yelling into the house, "Bentley, come quick!"

There was a patter of footsteps from inside as the little boy appeared in the doorway. He saw his beloved pet and let out a squeal of delight, reaching up to give it a cuddle.

"Thank you so much," the man said to Enoch, "Where on earth did you find him?"

"In the woods," Enoch answered, deciding not to add the fact that it had been dead moments before.

The man turned to the boy, "Say thank you to-" 

"Enoch," Enoch filled them in.

"Say thank you to Enoch, Bentley," the man told his son.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" Bentley spoke rapidly, hopping up and down. 

With a wave, the man brought the cat indoors, shutting the door behind him. Enoch lingered on the stoop for a moment, a smile on his face.

But the smile soon fell on his walk home. He was glad that he did the right thing but he couldn't get over the fact that he has given away his greatest discovery. A cat that he'd brought back to life. He still didn't understand what had happened. But he knew one thing, for sure.

He was going to try again.


	9. Chapter 9

Enoch gripped the knife with his left hand. A doll laid on the table in front of him, staring up at him with forever wide and glossy eyes. Despite its innocent face, painted on with such delicacy, and lacy, child-like dress, Enoch felt no remorse cutting it apart. It had never once been alive, and even if it had, that had never stopped him before. He wanted to use its head for a new project he was working on. 

Holding the doll's body still the best he could with his right elbow, he lowered the knife to the doll's neck. The sharpened blade sliced into the dolls synthetic skin like butter.

Trying to keep his left hand steady, he dragged the knife down with slow movements - painfully slow. With his dominant hand, this would have been finished in seconds after many years of experience. But his left hand was not so well trained, his fingers shaking while he tried to keep the line straight. 

Trying to hurry things along, he pressed down harder, pulling the blade towards him with more speed. The line became jagged and he tried to keep it steady. But as he pressed forcefully, his hand slipped. The knife cut through the skin too fast at a sharp angle, flying out at him. It stopped suddenly when it hit the table. The knife stuck out, the blade now buried in the splintered wood.

" _Ugh,_ " Enoch let out a moan of annoyance, slamming his hands down on the table as he stood up, pushing his chair out from behind him. A sharp pain shot up his right arm, where the stitches still stung. 

Falling back into his bed, he stared at his bandaged hand, wishing it would heal faster. It had already been a week since the incident, but the doctor wouldn't be back to remove the stitches for another week or two. Until then, Enoch's work became impossible, unable to continue with his non dominant hand. 

Lying in bed, he stared up at the ceiling getting lost in his thoughts. Ever since he discovered his peculiarity at eight years old, he'd worked on his projects almost every day. Now twice that age, he was unable to continue. Without his work, his life felt meaningless. What was a peculiar without the use of their peculiarity? 

He tried to assure himself that it was only a little while longer until his hand healed. Then he could get back to work as usual. Maybe a break would be good for him. He could pick up a new hobby or read a book. Maybe he could go outside and bring some life back to his pale skin. 

But none of that appealed to him. So instead, he moped around his room feeling useless, waiting for the days to pass by. 

He stayed on his bed, hands resting on his stomach until there was a rapping on the door. He didn't get to answer before someone poked their head in.

"Dinner," Abe's accent filled his ears. 

Enoch didn't move, "What if I'm not hungry?"

"Well, unless you're ill, I'd say you're lying, seeing how you already missed lunch today." Abe said, stepping into the room. Any other peculiar wouldn't have bothered him any more about it, but Abe didn't let up so easily. "I don't believe the Bird would be too happy about you trying to avoid us." 

With a huff, Enoch sat up. He tried to straighten out his bed head, which was matted down in back from lying on it. 

Abe chuckled at his attempts, walking over to him, "Got someone you're trying to impress?" 

Enoch glared at him, flicking his last curl in place. 

"Just teasing, mate." Abe gave him a signature smile that all the girls seemed to go mad for. "Let's go before Miss P has a cow because we’re late." 

Enoch stood and Abe threw an arm over his shoulder, walking out with him. Enoch's breath hitched. His eyes shot to Abe who hadn't seemed to notice his twitch.

Physical interaction wasn't something Enoch got a lot of since he was a child. Most kids would stay away from him, not liking his general dark vibe. Only his parents ever gave him the occasional hug or pat on the back. Miss Peregrine would sometimes brush his cheek or squeeze his shoulder in a similar caring way. But friendly touches were rare for him. He was never really close enough to anyone to receive one. 

It wasn't until they reached the dining room that Abe's arm fell back to his side. Although the moment had been brief, Enoch's shoulders felt empty, missing the weight. 

"Wow, Enoch is actually alive?" Millard's voice joked when he caught sight of him. Enoch ignored him, taking his seat at the table. 

Now that everyone was in their place, the children looked to Miss Peregrine who gave them a nod, saying it was okay to begin eating. They dug in, the usual chatter replace by the sounds of metal cutlery against glass plates. 

Enoch picked at his food, taking small bites. 

"Enoch, there's a war on. I expect you to clean your plate," Miss Peregrine gave him a stern reminder. “That goes for all of you, children.”

"But what about Claire?" Hugh's voice piped up. "She never eats!"

Everyone's eyes fell to the little girl, who had to sit on a cushion to be able to reach the table. Her plate of food sat untouched before her. 

"Claire prefers to eat her meals in private. I assure you, she will also be finishing all her food as well.” Miss Peregrine told them.

"But why?" Gloria asked, through a mouthful of tomato. 

Miss Peregrine didn't go into detail, "That is her choice and we must respect that." 

Claire stared down at her lap, her golden curls shadowing her face. Her eyes flickered up for a moment, meeting Enoch's glance. He gave her a small smile, which seemed to cheer her up a bit as she gave him a timid one back.

The topic was dropped as the children focused back on their own meals. When they were finished, they washed up their dishes and went off to do their own things. As usual, Enoch retreated to his room. 

The wall of jars mocked him, the hearts and brains sitting still in the murky chemicals. He knew it would be at least a week until he could touch them again - maybe longer. 

He paced back and forth across the room, as the light faded from between the slats of his shutters. He ran his good hand across the shelves, collecting dust on his finger tips and leaving a trail. He hadn't realized how boring he was as a person until his unique ability was taken away from him. 

A soft knock came from his door, interrupting his thoughts. He paused, looking across the room.

"Come in," he said. 

The door pushed open slowly revealing a spot of pink and gold.

"Hi Claire," he greeted with a hint of surprise. 

She stepped carefully into the room, her wide, curious eyes scanning the room. They traced the wall of shelves, covered in jars and preserved parts, the table covered in tools and stained with dried blood, and the assortment of dolls and animal parts that stuck of of boxes and made up previous creations. Her little nose wrinkled as the lingering smell of sharp chemicals hit her. 

Enoch almost wanted to lead her out. Away from his room so she wouldn't have to be exposed to his work that many viewed as gross or scary. She was so young and new to the peculiar world he didn't want to scare her off. But the reality was that the peculiar world was scary. His power could be gross, and the sooner she came to realize that, the sooner she would be able to adjust and understand. So he stayed put as she examined her surroundings.

"I have a question," she finally spoke. 

Enoch nodded for her to continue.

"What is your peculiarity?" She stumbled on the last word, making it sound more like " _peck-cool-lar-itty_ ". She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, waiting patiently for an answer. 

She had heard - and seen - all of the other children's peculiarities, but Enoch's was still a mystery to her. The older boy intrigued her and she wanted to know more about him.

Enoch hesitated, "It's a bit scary," he warned her. 

She didn't seem to mind, "That's okay."

He thought of the simplest way to explain it to the young girl, "I take things that are dead and bring them to life."

He expected a negative reaction, like the ones he got whenever he showed off glimpses of his powers growing up. But Claire didn't even flinch. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, trying to imagine what he meant by that. 

"Let me show you," he said, moving towards a box that held some old creations of his. He selected what would hopefully frighten her the least, an wooden toy soldier with a hole cut out of its back. Then he grabbed a jar with a tiny heart preserved in side. Using his left hand, he popped it open, taking out the organ.

Claire's eyes watched in wonder, approaching his wooden work bench so she could get a closer look. She didn't seem at all grossed out by the slimy heart that he carefully inserted in the back of the soldier. 

After a few moments, the soldier sputtered to life with a few jerking movements. It hopped up on its feet, marching back and forth on the table, as if it were guarding the queen's palace.

Letting out a gasp, Claire watched in amazement. Enoch's lips tweaked up, happy that she wasn't running away screaming but, instead, enjoying the show. 

"I can control them too," he told her, "Watch this. Stop," he told the wooden soldier. It froze in place.

"Attention," Enoch ordered. The soldier stood straight, facing him, his hand rising to a salut. 

"Wow!" Claire exclaimed.

Enoch smiled, wanting to have some fun, "Now show us some ballet," he instructed with a smirk. 

The soldier began some wobbly steps, leaping and prancing across the table like a stage. It twirled around, lacking the grace of a real dancer, but entertaining none the less. Claire clapped her hands in amusement, giggling up a storm. 

The show ended when the soldier seemed to run out the energy. The little heart could only last so long. With one final spin, the wooden toy fell with a _clunk_ , flat onto the table, lifeless again. With a pair of tweezers, Enoch extracted the heart and put it back into the jar. 

"That wasn't scary at all, Claire said with a beaming smile, "it was amazing!"

Enoch couldn't help but smile back, "Thank you. Unfortunately, not everyone thinks so." 

She shook her head, her curls bouncing, "That's not scary. _My_ peculiarity is scary." She affirmed, suddenly not so thrilled, her grin falling to a frown. She kicked her foot, retreating back into her shell, timid once again. She always seemed shy when it came to her peculiarity.

"I'm sure it isn't that bad. All of us are scary in some way because we can do things that people don't see as normal. But that’s okay. We’re all weird here,” Enoch attempted to cheer her up. 

It seemed to help. She looked up to him, glancing from the little heart in the jar and back to him. She seemed to be examining him, trying to see if she could really trust him. Finally, she made her decision.

"Do you want to see my peculiarity?" She asked.

Without waiting for an answer she turned around, looking down at the ground so her head was tilted. Slowly, she reached back, moving her curls out of the way so her could see.

Enoch was confused for a moment before he noticed something grinning back at him. Spread across the back of her head was a pair of lips - inhuman ones, long and thin. They smiled at him, revealing pointed teeth like a shark's. Enoch wouldn't have expected something so grim and monstrous to reside on such a young and cheerful child.

Quickly, as to make sure he didn't have to look at it for long, Claire let her hair fall back to cover the mouth. She spun back around to see his reaction, bracing for it. But Enoch wasn't fazed. Instead, he nodded, looking a bit impressed.

"You must get a lot of hair in your mouth," he noted, as if having a back mouth was something casual to reveal to someone. As a peculiar, he'd come to accept most anything.

Claire giggled, a sense of relief washing over her that he didn't see her as a monster. 

Although they were many years apart and appeared to be the antithesis of each other - Enoch dark and brooding, Claire bright an innocent - they were not so different. Each had faced years of torment for their powers, seen as different or frightening. Each expected to be outcasted for what made them peculiar, as they had powers that were not desired by the general society. But here, they fit in. They were not so different after all. 

Here they found acceptance.


	10. Chapter 10

"Un - duex - trois - quatre - cinq - six - sept -" Enoch counted each skip he took down the sidewalk. He'd just begun to learn some French in school and he was itching to show off his skills to his parents when he arrived home. 

As he skipped down the road, he hopped over ever crack in the pavement, the contents of his school bag shaking around on his back. 

"Dix" He didn't know any numbers further than ten, so he started again. "Un - duex - trois -" he paused when he noticed someone sitting on the curb not far in front of him.

It was the little boy he'd seen a few days ago - Bentley was it? The little boy whose cat Enoch had returned. 

Bentley  sat, his face him his hands, staring across the road. As Enoch got closer, he could hear the boy emitting little sniffles.

"Are you okay?" Enoch asked when he was near to him.

Bentley buried his face into his palms, letting out a muffled sob. Enoch was starting to feel uncomfortable and was tempted to just continue on his way and leave the boy be. 

But then the boy look up to him, his cheeks stained with tears, "Ashes died!" He exclaimed.

Enoch blinked, "The cat?" He thought back to a few days previous when he found the cat dead in the woods. But then he'd brought it back. Could it really have died again already?

Enoch frowned as Bentley nodded with a sniffle. He felt bad and confused. Why had the cat come back only to die again so soon? It must have just been a terrible coincidence.

Enoch took a seat on the curb next to Bentley, "Don't worry. Ashes went to a better place." He repeated the words his dad had told his clients almost every day. 

"That's what mummy said," the boy sniffed. 

"It's true," Enoch nodded, feeling like an expert in the subject. "My parents told me about death. It's beautiful, really. They get to leave this place and go somewhere where they can be happy. I bet Ashes is playing with a bunch of other kitties and has loads of mice to chase where he is now." 

"Do you think so?" Bentley looked up to Enoch with hope in his eyes. "Do you think he misses me?" 

"I'm sure he does," Enoch told him. 

"Bentley?" A woman's voice called from behind the two boys. Enoch turned his head to see her walking towards them. "It's time to come inside." 

Bentley's mother reached out, offering her son her hand to help him off the curb. She examined Enoch sitting next to him, "Who are you, darling?"

Enoch stood - it was the polite thing to do when greeting someone, his father taught him.

"My name is Enoch. Enoch O' Connor." He told her with a smile.

"O' Connor?" The woman repeated, trying to remember where she had heard that name before. Her mouth twisted as her eyes flickered with realization, "Oh, the undertaker's son..." 

"Yes!" Enoch nodded with pride. He didn't know that his family name was so recognizable around the village. 

The woman looked at him warily, pushing her son towards the house, "Come inside now, Bentley. Let's go." She led him away from the the undertaker's son.

-

At breakfast the next morning, the peculiars took their usual seats, overlooking the breakfast spread on the table in front of them. 

"Good morning, children," Miss Peregrine greeted them, taking her spot at the head of the table. She plunked a sugar cube into her tea, delicately stirring it with a little spoon. "After breakfast, we will all be going into town today."

The children perked up. Fiona and Horace shared a look of excitement. Enoch caught Abe gazing over at Emma, who slipped him a little smile. The peculiars always enjoyed a little trip into the town - even Enoch. Although he wouldn't be on his own this time, it was always nice to get away from the children's home for a little while to see how the normal people lived. Miss Peregrine organized these trips every so often to give the children a change of scenery. 

"Eat up so we can be on our way," she instructed, letting them begin their breakfast. 

Everyone began to dish out food onto their plates with a new found energy. Even Enoch took a larger helping than usual, excited for the day for once. 

They ate quickly, Millard going so far as to scarf down his plate of food within minutes in his exhilaration. 

Only Claire sat with her plate untouched, frowning down at her food.

Enoch looked over to the little girl. She looked up at him with a tilt of her head. He could tell she wanted to eat with the rest of them but was scared. Enoch smiled and gave her a nod of encouragement. She smiled back.

With a bite of her lip, Claire grabbed her fork and picked up some egg. But instead of lifting it up to her face, she lifted up her hair with one hand and moved the fork to the back of her head.

Miss Peregrine smiled with a glimmer in her eyes at Claire, who let out a little giggle. Claire continued to eat, feeding her breakfast to the mouth of the back of her head.

"Claire, what in heaven's name are you doing?" Horace noticed, his eyebrow furrowing. Everyone looked over the the little girl, whose cheeks turned the color of her dress.

"She's a backmouth!" Millard gasped, "I've read about them in the Tales of the Peculiar!" 

"Really? How fascinating!" Victor noted.

After the brief interruption, they went back to their own breakfasts. Claire seemed slightly surprised but the unfazed reactions. But then she smiled, looking over to Enoch with a look that seemed to thank him. Her breakfast disappeared from her plate with confidence now that she no longer needed to fear what people would think of her peculiarity. 

After cleaning up the dishes, the children gathered by the door in excitement. The younger children chatted with each other, practically hopping up and down. Bronwyn and Hugh trying to explain what the town was like to Claire, complete with wide, expressive hand motions. Millard clutched a notebook against his chest, ready to observe the townspeople. If he hadn't been holding the book and pen, he would have been entirely invisible standing next to Victor.

"Alright, dears," Miss Peregrine stood between them and the front door. "Now we must remember to be on our best behavior. While I normally encourage you to embrace your peculiarities, I ask you to keep them hidden while we visit the town. We do not want the villagers to suspect anything, do we?" She raised her eyebrows over the children who nodded in understanding.

"Miss P?" Hugh raised his hand as if he were in class.

"Yes Hugh, you may let your bees fly free while we are out, but please refrain from ingesting them again until we are back home. I'm afraid the normal people do not find swallowing bees to be particularly pleasant." Miss Peregrine answered without him even needing to ask. "Now, shall we be off?"

She opened the door, stepping out into the sunlit day. A beautiful day for a walk into town, only a few clouds grazing the blue sky.

They followed behind the headmistress, marching down the hill like a little army in rows. Claire and Bronwyn took the front, chatting delightedly and admiring the passing scenery. Fiona and Hugh took in the nature as Hugh let his bees scatter to tend to the greenery. Horace, Millard, and Victor walked behind them deep in discussion. Then Gloria, Abe, and Emma took up the rear, only trailed by Enoch, who walked alone, hands shoved into his pockets. 

The mid autumn day was warm enough to only warrant needing a light coat. The breeze brought a slight chill that hinted at the coming winter, which Enoch was not looking forward to. But he enjoyed autumn while he could, liking the crisp fallen leaves and the warm color tones the painted the island.

Enoch glanced in front of him and noticed as Emma slipped her hand into Abe's. 

Enoch quickly turned away to focus on the cliffs and the waves that crashed against them. He remembered back to the first time he saw the ocean. His town in Scotland had been landlocked, the only large body of water being a nearby river where he'd often take his sister swimming in the warm summer months. 

He was ten when he first saw the ocean with his own eyes. His family rarely left their small village, so their trip to Brighton one summer was a thrilling occurrence. As they drove past the sandy beaches with the cool blue water lapping against the shore, Enoch and his sister had pressed their faces against the window of the car. 

People strode down the shore, laughing or eating ice cream. Children played in the shallows, splashing in the salty water. Gulls soared, searching for food left behind by the vacationers. Dogs ran up and down the beach, as their owners threw driftwood for them to fetch. 

At the time, the ocean seemed to foreign and exciting to him. It was something new to explore and play in. It sparkled in the summer sunlight, the smell of salt lingering in the fresh air. It was friendly and inviting. 

But now the ocean had lost its magic. The ocean surrounding Cairnholm was dark and treacherous. The waves beat against the eroding cliffs. Storms would stir up often, producing whipping winds as the waves crashed and roared and torrential rain pounded down on the island inhabitants. 

There were a select few days like this one where the ocean was calm but Enoch knew it's true power. It may be holding back today but it had the capability of releasing a strong tempest at any moment. 

"I just love the ocean, don't you?" A voice broke Enoch's focus, pulling his eyes away from the waves. Gloria fell back to walk beside him, admiring the sea. He didn't respond.

She itched at the high collared blouse she wore to cover the gills on her neck, "Wish I didn't have to wear this bloody thing. You don't know how much I envy you. You can just be normal, if you want. No one can see that your different just by looking at you. You don't have to hide your peculiarity."

Enoch shrugged, not really knowing how to respond to that. He would argue that his peculiarity was more of a curse than hers but he wasn't in the mood for a fight. 

"Emma and Abe were getting all mushy." Gloria lowered her voice so the couple in front of her couldn't hear. "It's pretty cute but I was definitely the odd one out there. It would be nice to have someone to love like that, wouldn't it?" She looked up to Enoch.

"I suppose." 

"I'd love to get married one day," Gloria continued, "A cute little wedding in a chapel. Lots of flowers and lace. It would be lovely! Would you ever want to get married?"

"I don't think I really have that option," Enoch said, knowing that, once Miss Peregrine created the loop, he would be a young forever.

"Not true," Gloria protested, "There's no reason we couldn't. Maybe I will leave the loop. Maybe I will run away to live life like a normal person. I could leave the island, get married, have kids, and grow old."

"- And get killed by Hollows," Enoch added.

"Well there's no need to be such a downer..." Gloria huffed, crossing her arms.

"It's unrealistic. We're stuck here for the rest of eternity. Peculiars don't grow up to live happy normal lives. We either live in loops or we are murdered by Hollows. That's reality," Enoch explained with a bitterness in his voice. He hated to admit it but it was the truth. 

"Well maybe one of us can try." Gloria said, stubborn to not give up her dream.

Enoch shook his head, "No peculiar can go on to live a long life. The end will only come when we're are killed by the monsters. There's no escaping our fate."


	11. Chapter 11

Enoch stared down at the ground in dismay. Three squirrels lay dead on the ground in front of him - each of which he'd brought back to life with new hearts. But now, they were motionless, as if he'd never revived them at all.

It had been a few months since he first discovered the power he held. At first, he thought it was a fluke. Perhaps the cat wasn't dead in the first place. Perhaps he'd imagined it - his father always commented on his overactive imagination. Or perhaps it was a one-time occurrence. 

He decided to try again soon after he heard that the cat had died again. He ran off to the forest almost every day after school, building up his collection of dead animals. From his kitchen, he snuck out some of the knives his parents used to cut meat. Then he took a needle and spool of thread from his mother's sewing kit. With his supplies ready, he took a bird and began his surgery, placing a small heart inside and patching it up with a few loose and messy stitches. 

Sure enough, within a few seconds, the bird was on its feet again. 

And, sure enough, it was dead a few days later. 

Enoch tried and tried again. Each time the animal would come alive as soon as he was finished with the transplant. It would obey his every command without hesitance. Then, it would die within a couple of days. He tried different types and sizes of hearts, different stitches, even putting multiple hearts in one animal, but nothing worked. They would always die again. 

Sure, Enoch could toy with death, but it always won over in the end. He could manipulate it, bringing back the dead for a brief period of time, but he couldn't overpower it.

Enoch realized his father had been right all along. No matter what, death was permanent. While he could try to change things and resurrect them, death always claimed them back.

Life was brief and fragile. Death was forever.

-

Upon reaching the village, the peculiars were allowed to split up.

"It makes us less intimidating to the locals," Miss Peregrine had explained. 

Some of the younger children tagged along with the headmistress, while the older peculiars went their own way. Emma strode off with Abe, hand-in-hand, followed briefly by Miss Peregrine's watchful gaze. Fiona, Hugh, and Millard ran off towards the center of the village to peer into the shop windows. 

Gloria turned to Enoch, her hands on her hips, "Well, I'm going to take a stroll on the shore," She stated, scratching at the collar over her gills. "Care to join me?"

Enoch couldn't think of anything he'd rather do less than spend time with Gloria by the ocean. So he just shook his head in response, not even offering an excuse.

She let out a little "hmph" noise before turning on her heel and skipping off towards the coast. 

Starting off through the village, Enoch walked with his head bowed and hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat. Whenever the residents of the children's home visited the village, they were always met by the suspicious gazes of the locals. While many of the villagers came to accept the unusual children as a part of the town, many became unsettled in their presence - as if they knew there was something different about them but they couldn't figure out what. 

Enoch could feel the stares of the villagers on him as he passed. Conversations dulled as they watched him go by. Parents huddled their little ones close and hurried them past Enoch. He couldn't blame them. He had a dark sort of vibe to him, almost as if he radiated the sense of death that he had grown up surrounding him. It had been like this all his life, even before he found out he was peculiar - one of the many reasons he lacked friends growing up. Everyone wanted to protect their children from the undertaker's son. 

Relief washed over him when he reached the edge of the village. He could see the familiar old shack in the distance - a sight that always brought him comfort. He began the short trek down the overgrown path to his secret cove. 

At least, he thought it was secret. 

Enoch jumped back when he saw a figure sitting in the sand, immediately clenching his fists in reflex. 

The figure turned his head when he heard someone approaching, "Oh, hi Enoch."

Enoch blinked, lowering his guard, "Victor? What are you doing here."

The peculiar shrugged, turning away to look out over the ocean, "Just thinking, I suppose. I didn't realize anyone else knew about this place."

"Me neither," Enoch agreed, "I can leave you be, if you'd like." He offered, knowing that, if it were him, he'd rather be alone.

But Victor shook his head, "No, no, I don't mind. It might be nice to have some company." He patted the patch of gravely sand beside him.

Enoch sat beside Victor, both gazing at the waves gracing the shore in a rhythmic fashion. They were silent for awhile, lost in thought. 

Victor was the first to break the silence, his eyes tracing over the coastline, "Do you ever wonder what would happen if you just took a boat and sailed straight onward? Where would we end up?"

Enoch followed Victor's gaze out far out over the water. The deep blue ocean continued on for miles until it stopped suddenly as it reached the grey horizon. 

"I supposed it would depend on which direction the wind took you," Enoch responded. He was too sure what lied beyond the horizon. Would he reach Wales? Or France? Or perhaps even America?

"Yes, that is true," Victor nodded, eyes glazed over as if he was lost in his own daydreams, "I've been here so long I feel like I can hardly remember what the mainland looks like."

Enoch didn't say anything. He disagreed entirely. He could remember every detail of his hometown. Sometimes he wandered through the halls of his old home in his thoughts. He could remember every chip in the plaint, crack in the wall, and hole in the ground. Scotland wasn't just a distant memory, it was a part of him.

Suddenly, Victor turned to him, his face serious, "Do you ever wish you could leave?"

Enoch was taken aback slightly by the question and the intensity behind Victor's eyes, "Leave? What do you mean by that?"

"Leave the children's home and the island." Victor faced the ocean again, "I'd love to get away sometime. Go live on the mainland." 

"And what? Join the circus? There's not much out there for people like us. Unless we want to be killed, that is."

Victor shook his head, "No, like live a normal life. Leave the peculiar world altogether. Wouldn't you of all people want that too?

With a sudden rush of excitement, Enoch nodded. Finally, someone seemed to relate to his feelings. Trying to hide his eagerness, Enoch responded plainly, "Yes, yes I would."

Victor stood up, walking slowly towards the water, "So why don't we? Why has no one left yet? Why are we trapped here on this ruddy old island when there's a whole world out there!" He gestured out into the distance.

Enoch stood too but kept his distance from the waves, "Well there's the fact that we would be hunted and killed by wights and hollowgasts..." Enoch stated the obvious.

Victor was growing increasingly frustrated, "But here we are just doomed to a neverending life, stuck in our adolescence. Isn't that worse than death? At least out there I could feel like I'm actually living a life - a true life with adventures like the ones you read about in books. Even in death, I'd feel like I did something worthwhile."

Enoch couldn't help but agree, glad that someone shared the same view as him. He wished he could get on a boat and sail away. Maybe he'd move to America, far away from where the war ravaged the earth. He could live in a big city, like New York. He could live the American dream people talked so much about. But deep down he knew it was not possible. He couldn't get his hopes up imaging some perfect life after he left the island. A peculiar's life was far from perfect. He learned that growing up. The children's home was the closest thing he had to stability, and he wasn't sure he was ready to give that up, as much as he dreamed about being normal. 

"Believe me," Enoch said, "I want that too. That's all I ever dream about - going home to Scotland, seeing my family again --"

Victor spun around to face him, "So why don't you?" 

Opening his mouth, Enoch tried to find the words, "I - I just... I just know that I can't. My problems are not going to be solved just by leaving the island. I'm still peculiar, that's something I - we -" He corrected himself. "- can never get rid of."

With a sigh, Victor slumped back into the sand, knowing Enoch was right. There was a lull in the conversation as both boys took everything in.

"Have you ever thought about speaking to Miss Peregrine?" Enoch asked carefully, trying not to push or prod.

Victor shrugged, "Oh you know her, she'll just tell me about how wonderful the loops are and how dangerous the outside world is. I know she's right, but I just can't come to accept that."

Enoch looked out at the horizon once more, longing for what lied beyond, "Maybe one day, things will change. Maybe we will get to leave the island and go out on adventures like in all the books we read. We've got an eternity to figure it out once the loop is made. But for now, I don't think we've really got a say in the matter."

For a moment, the two peculiars just took in the sounds of the ocean, the soft rush as the water crashed onto the rocky shore. A gull squawked overhead, flying freely in the cloudy sky. The crisp autumn air brought a soft sea breeze, spreading out the briny scent of the low tide. 

Finally, Victor took a deep breath, "I apologize for sounding so mad. It just all gets to me sometimes," he admitted.

"I understand," Enoch said. He really did, he just wasn't as vocal about it. 

Victor stood again, brushing the sand off his back, "Come on then. No use moping around here any longer. Like you said, we've got an eternity, I'd rather not spend so much time of it whining about fate." 

Together, they marched up the steep path, pushing aside the brush that threatened to scratch at their arms and legs. As the reached the top, Victor turned to Enoch one last time.

"Promise you won't tell anyone about what we talked about down there? Especially not my sister. She's so young and loved it here. I don't want to crush her." Victor extended his right arm to shake.

With a tight grip, the two boys shook in agreement, making a pact never to speak about their dreams that would never come true. 

From then on, Enoch considered Victor an ally. They were of a similar age but they had never spent much time together before their time in the cove. Victor and his sister had only come to stay with Miss Peregrine just a year prior to Enoch's arrival. He had always seemed pleasant enough and satisfied with the care he received. It had never occurred to Enoch that Victor - or any of the other peculiars for that matter - could share the same feeling toward their life and the peculiar world as Enoch. While they never did speak of their conversation in the cove again, there was always an unspoken understanding between them. From small nods of acknowledgment when passing in the halls, to sympathetic smiles, they always knew that deep down they felt the same feeling of being trapped in their sort of 'peculiar bubble'. 

While they had vowed not to discuss these feelings again, Enoch would go on to wish he had brought it up once more so they could work out a way to deal with their peculiarities together.

If they had, maybe things would have turned out different.

Maybe Victor wouldn't have suffered the fate he did.


	12. Chapter 12

Things were never quite the same after Enoch discovered his peculiarity. He spent more and more time in the woods working on his animals, experimenting to see what exactly he was capable of. He distanced himself from his family and the other kids his age, focusing most of his time on his projects. He went from giving simple woodland creatures new hearts to creating new animals with various parts from other organisms and even giving life to things that were never alive, such as an old teddy bear. 

While he spent a large portion of his time working on his actual creatures, the majority of his time was spent searching for parts. It wasn't easy finding what he needed. Many days were spent combing through the woods for dead animals. He was lucky to find them fully intact; Most of the time they were squished or being picked apart by scavengers. Hearts were the most vital part of his whole operation but they were the most difficult to come by. They needed to be in the best condition possible in order for it to work. 

After he first discovered his peculiarity, he took things slow. He wanted to see what he could do but within reason. He'd make a new creature if he had the resources but he wouldn't spend all his time obsessing over his work.

But as he grew older things began to change.

It was his first day of year five, his very last year of primary school. He showed up with just as much rigor as the previous years, excited to learn and hopeful that he'd make some friends. His uniform was new and freshly pressed and he'd arrived early after dropping his little sister off at nursery school. 

Sitting upright with all his supplies set out neatly in front of him, he swung his legs back and forth, waiting for the other students to arrive. As they filed in, they took seats at tables with their friends, leaving the chair next to Enoch empty. Enoch was overjoyed when a little boy wandered over to him and put down his school bad.

"Hi, I'm Wilbur! I'm new." The little boy with scruffy brown hair introduced himself with a gap-toothed grin.

Enoch grinned back, "I'm Enoch!" 

The boys shook hands and that was the start of a new friendship. They'd goof off in class together, play games out on the schoolyard, and trade snacks at lunch. For the first few weeks of school, Wilbur became the closest friend Enoch ever had. And so Enoch decided that Wilbur would be the first person he'd ever tell his secret to. 

After school one day, Enoch asked, "Do you want to come to my secret hiding place with me?" 

Intrigued by the promise of a secret, Wilbur agreed and Enoch led him towards the forest. 

In the distance, the orange, red, and yellow autumn leaves rose up along the horizon, like far-off flames burning upwards towards the sky. Some leaves had already begun to fall, scattering the ground in bright colors and creating a loud ' _crunch_ ' with every step. Enoch always considered fall to be the best season for the atmosphere the changing of the seasons brought. While the leaves were dying, they brought such beauty, as a last gift to the world before the chill of winter.

When they reached the treeline of the forest, Wilbur paused, "Are we going in there?" He pointed into the shadowy woods, his eyes growing wide.

Enoch nodded, "Yes!"

Wilbur started to get cold feet, "My mum tells me to stay away from the forest. It's dark and there could be animals that attack me!" He stared into the shadowed forest, nibbling on his lip.

Enoch shook his head, trying to reassure his friend, "It's not scary. I go in here all the time."

Wilbur glanced into the forest once more with a frown but agreed to follow Enoch inside. Enoch guided his new friend through the trees, knowing each bump and turn by heart.

When they reached the clearing, Enoch stopped and turned to his friend, "I'm going to show you my secret collection but you have to promise me you won't tell anyone, okay?"

Wilbur nodded, "I promise."

"Cross your heart," Enoch instructed. Wilbur obeyed, using his pointer finger to draw an X over his chest.

Satisfied with that, Enoch kneeled down and dug out his old tin lunch box, now patched with rust and caked in dry, crumbling dirt. Wilbur tilted his head, not sure of what could lie inside. He knelt down across from Enoch, watching the box intently to see what it held.

When Enoch opened the lid, Wilbur yelped and jumped to his feet. Inside the lunch box was a dead rat that Enoch had discovered in his back garden a few days previous. Lying next to it was a couple of small animal hearts he had collected.

"Gross! Why do you have a dead rat?" Wilbur cried out, taking a few steps back. His face twisted with a mix of disgust and fear.

"I have other animals too! I collect them. But that's not the cool part!" Enoch bent over the box so Wilbur couldn't see and slipped one of the hearts into the rat. When he was done, he held the rat in his open palms and spun around so Wilbur could see.

Wilbur's eyebrows furrowed as he watched the lifeless rat, not understanding what Enoch had just done.

Suddenly, the rat's pink nose twitched and its eyes blinked open. The rat rose, standing on its hind legs to sniff the air.

" _Blimey!_ " Wilbur exclaimed backing up so fast he almost rammed into a tree. "H-how? I thought it was _dead!_ " His voice grew faster in a frenzied confusion. 

Enoch's heart dropped at his friend's reaction. He thought he would be mystified or amazed, not terrified. Thinking that maybe he just needed a better look to take it in, Enoch placed the rat on the ground.

The rat scampered towards Wilbur who let out a scream and took off running, "You're screwy, Enoch!" He yelled back as he ran back through the trees.

"Wait!" Enoch called after his friend, "Come back!" To Enoch's disappointment, only the rat returned with his call, his friend long gone. 

Enoch picked up the rat, which nestled into the warmth of his palms, and raised it up to look at. He found his secret power to be so cool, why didn't Wilbur think so? Why did his only friend run away when he showed him what he could do? Why did his parents freak out when he first started his collection? Why didn't everyone find the dead animals as fascinating as he did?

Tears started to well up in his eyes as he looked at the rat in his hands. He could feel the soft patter of its heart against the skin of his palm. With a sniffle, Enoch slumped down against the tree as tears began to drip down his cheeks. 

All he wanted was to be accepted. To be appreciated. 

But that was something he never got.

After that day, Enoch sat alone. Wilbur kept his distance as if Enoch had some sort of contagious disease. Wilbur made new friends with some other boys in their class while Enoch was ignored by the other kids around him. 

" _Freak!_ " A bitter voice yelled out as Enoch was walking across the schoolyard one winter morning. There was a soft ' _thwack!_ ' as a ball of slushy ice smacked against his back. 

"Enoch is a freak who plays with dead things!" Another boy taunted, launching another snowball at him. 

Looking over at his attackers, Enoch saw Wilbur standing amongst the group of teasing bullies. For a brief moment, they made eye contact. Wilbur quickly looked away, knowing he was guilty of giving away a secret he promised not to tell. 

Heeding his parent's advice of not listening to bullies or giving them any attention, Enoch turned away to continue towards the school. But as he turned, something cold slammed into his cheek. Wet slush dripped down his face and neck, stinging him like frozen needles. 

Enoch's sadness turned to rage as he wiped the slush off his face. Quickly forming his own ball of snow and ice, he flung it at the group of bullies, hitting one in the chest with such force that he was knocked back. 

" _Hey!_ " The red-headed bully, whose name was Jack, coughed out. He regained his balance, balling up his fists and stormed towards Enoch.

Enoch tried to run but Jack caught up to him. Within seconds, Enoch found himself shoved face first into the snow. Jack rolled him over and socked him in the face, right where the snowball had hit him. 

"Boys! Boys! Stop that!" Someone shouted out. A teacher hurried over to break up the fight. She pulled Jack off of Enoch as another teacher ran over to help her. The other teacher held Jack back, while she helped Enoch up. Drops of red blood stained the white snow and Enoch could taste it's metallic bitterness as it dripped from his mouth and over his lips. 

He was quickly ushered into the school building where he was given tissues and - ironically - an ice pack to hold up to his bruised cheek. When it stopped gushing, he was sent to class, where Jack's friends sneered at him from across the room. His eyes wandered to Wilbur, who sat among the bullies. His old friend avoided every one of Enoch attempts to make eye contact, not wanted to see the betrayal in his eyes.

Upon arriving home, his father noticed his bruised and swelled up nose, "Enoch, what on earth happened?" He questioned, reaching out with delicate hands to inspect his son's beaten face.

Enoch turned away, "I don't wanna talk o' bout it," He muttered before marching off to his room and slamming the door. 

_'Maybe I am a freak,'_ Enoch thought to himself, laying still on his bed and staring up at his ceiling. Maybe those boys were right after all. 

Enoch wanted so desperately to fit in. To make friends like all the other boys seemed to have. To see the world like everyone else did. He avoided the forest for a few days, trying to get away from his strange habits and unique ability. But the call of his power was too strong to resist and he wound up with his creatures once again. It was like an addiction he could never overcome. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't break his habits and his affinity for dead things.

And so Enoch changed - gradually at first - until he became the person everyone believed him to be: the death-obsessed freak. No longer did he feel like the excitable boy he once was, always looking for adventure and fun, viewing the world with such innocence and naivety. As he grew, so did the shadows under his sunken eyes, always seeming underslept. A smile was rare and hardly ever made an appearance in public, replaced by a flat, lifeless stare. His hair grew darker and messier and he put little effort in his appearance - no one liked him anyway, there was no need to impress anybody. He walked with his head bowed, shadowed by his long curls, and his bony hands shoved deep in his pockets. As long as he kept a low profile, no one paid attention to him. And if they did pay him any mind, it was only to tease him and give him the occasional beating until he screamed _"Uncle!"_

Most of the time, he stayed locked in his room, hidden away from the world - to protect himself from the monsters who terrorized him and to protect others from the monster inside him. If he kept his distance, he wouldn't get hurt. He was 11 now, almost 12, but hardened beyond his years until he felt stone cold.

Lying on his bed in the dark, Enoch twiddled with an old little bone, not much larger than a toothpick. He moved his fingers back and forth, letting the bones weave through the gaps between them. His mind wandered to the woods where he was planning his latest creation. 

A soft knock on the door interrupted his thinking and he muttered a soft, "Come in." He tucked the bone carefully under his pillow, burying his secret.

His mother poked her head through the door, glancing around the dark room for the shadowed shape of her son, "Enoch?" She stepped inside, reaching for the lamp, "Why is it so dark in here?" She flicked it on, causing Enoch's eyes to be covered in dark blobs as they adjusted to the burning brightness.

" _Mum..._ " He moaned, sitting up against his headboard and rubbing his eyes.

His mother ignored his whining and sat down beside him on the bed, "Is everything alright? Are you feeling ill?" She reached out to place a hand on his forehead to feel if he had a fever, but he only felt cold.

"Yes, mum. I'm fine," He insisted, tired of his mom's constant concern. 

"I'm just worried about you, Enoch." She frowned, pulling her hand away. "For the amount of time you spend outside, I would think you'd have more color to you." She examined his pale skin. Enoch had never told her that all his time spent outside was in the shadows of the forest he'd always been warned to avoid. 

"Are you sure you're feeling alright, honey? I feel like you just haven't been yourself lately."

Enoch shrugged, "I feel normal." It was a lie. He was far from normal and he knew it.

His mother looked doubtful, "You'd tell me if you weren't, right?"

"Of course." Another lie.

She sighed, standing up slowly, knowing she'd get no further with him, "Alright. Have you finished all your homework?"

"I will." 

"You better. You should be focusing on your schoolwork and not just moping around in the dark. Please try to get some done before teatime, okay?" She asked, raising her eyebrows in expectation.

"Yes, I'm gonna." He answered, reaching over to grab his school book.

His mother started towards the door, but stopped after a thought and turned around, "And Enoch?"

Enoch glanced up, "Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, mum." His lips tweaked up into a rare hint of a smile. 

There were times when Enoch considered telling her his secret. He knew she cared greatly for him but would she be able to accept what he was? Would she ever understand what he could do? 

He often felt alone, outcasted by the power he held inside. Were there any others like him out there? It seemed as though he'd have to keep this power hidden for his whole life. He didn't understand why he could do the things that he could. But no doctor could ever cure him, no psychologist could ever treat him. He'd be sent to a loony asylum for sure. So it was his fate to stay hidden from the world, hiding his dark secret inside of him for the rest of his life.

And this came true, as Enoch would later discover while living in the children's home. Only the secret he held was no longer about his peculiarity...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading! I know this fandom isn't too active these days, so I really just write this for fun and not for views because I love exploring these characters, so I really appreciate any comments you guys leave. They really make my day! I hope you are enjoying the story so far and stay tuned this summer for more!


	13. Chapter 13

_'Plip'_

_'Plip'_

_'Plip'_

_'Plip'_

Water dripped down in a rhythmic fashion, falling into a bucket from a small leak in the ceiling. Rain pattered on the tiled roof, sharp and intense, as if glass marbles were dropping from the sky. The old house creaked as thunder shook the small island and the wind whipped, sending sticks and twigs flying and snapping as the hit the house walls. Each time lightning struck outside, light broke through the windows like the flash of a camera, brightening the room even through the curtains and shutters.

_'Plip'_

_'Plip'_

_'Plip'_

The drops splashed into the bucket, the noise keeping Enoch wide awake. Although it was almost two in the morning, he didn't mind the disturbance of the storm. In fact, he enjoyed a good thunderstorm. The raging downpour brought a sense of comfort to him, knowing he was safe inside the cozy home. 

Sliding out of his bed, he approached the window across the room, throwing open the curtains to watch the torrential storm blow over the island. Trees swayed, branches threatening to snap. Water gathered in large puddles on the ground, appearing to be like tiny lakes from his vantage point in the upstairs window. The fallen autumn leaves looped and swirled through the air as the wind tossed them about. In the distance, Enoch could see the ocean, dark and menacing as it smashed against the cliffs. The waves were choppy and would surely make even the most experienced sailor seasick. The fog settled low on the horizon, making it almost impossible to see very far at all. One could get lost in the ocean so easily, never to be seen again.

But Enoch loved the thunderstorm and the terror and destruction it brought as mother nature beat down on the earth. With a bit of strain, he pushed open the window to take in the full experience. The wooden window frame creaked loudly, stiff from hardly ever being opened. The sounds of the storm filled his room and he took a deep breath of the thick, damp air. There was still the chill of an autumn wind that gave him goosebumps but still not cold enough to feel any more than a slight shiver in his bones. 

Enoch leaned against the windowsill for a few moments taking in the storm. It brought him new energy and he decided he wouldn't be able to sleep until it was over, so he decided he would go try to catch a better look at the weather. He slid his feet into a pair of slippers, trying to quiet his footsteps as he walked down the hall. As he passed the other children's rooms, he wondered if they were sleeping through the weather or if the storm kept them awake in their beds. Stepping on the outer edge of the wooden steps to try to prevent them from creaking, he tiptoed down, headed for the conservatory where he'd have an excellent view from the large windows. 

There was something he loved about the house at night when it was empty and quiet. For a building that was usually so full of noise and life as children ran about, it was almost a bit eerie for there to be no one around. The rooms were empty, no kids laughing, or little ones chasing each other down the hall. There was no warm fire crackling in the hearth, or savory scents from dinner cooking in the kitchen. There was no Gloria to whine or Abe and Emma to exchange whispers. Even Miss Peregrine, who was a constant figure around the house, was nowhere to be seen. It was just him alone with just the sounds of the rain to keep him company. Or so he thought...

As he passed the lounge, he heard something that made him stop in his tracks. In between the rumbles of thunder, he could swear he heard something of a soft whimper. He backtracked, peering into the room. At first, nothing looked out of the ordinary. It was dark and seemingly empty. The clock on the wall ticked peacefully, the fireplace was empty, the logs next to it untouched, all the paintings on the wall seemed to be in place. If it wasn't for a flash of lightning brightening up the room, he probably never would have seen the flicker of gold on the sofa.

Curled up in a ball in the center of the plush sofa was a little girl dressed in a pink, frilly nightgown. Her face was pressed against her knees but Enoch could tell it was Claire from the delicate golden curls that fell down her back. Enoch was confused at first. What was the little girl doing up at this hour? He stepped silently into the room and could hear her soft sniffles.

"Claire?" He spoke out, the only noise that wasn't created by the weather outside.

The little girl jumped, letting out a shrill yelp in terror. She pushed herself to the far edge of the sofa up against the armrest, looking around the room frantically. 

"It's okay! It's okay! It's just me!" Enoch tried to reassure her as quick as he could, stepping forward to turn on a lamp. A soft yellow glow lit up the room so Claire could clearly make out who was in the room with her. She started to settle down, her heavy breaths growing slower as she leaned back into the couch. Enoch could see the glimmer of tears on her cheeks that she quickly tried to whip dry.

"Are you alright?" Enoch approached the sofa slowly. Claire just sniffled in response.

There was a crack of thunder and the hanging light above them swung back and forth slightly. Claire jumped again, emitting a soft whimper. She curled herself up tighter, hugging her legs closer to her.

"Are you afraid of the storm?" He asked, glancing out at the rain that slammed against the glass window. Claire gave him a slow nod, her eyes wide with fright.

His first instinct would have been to roll his eyes. It was just weather, it couldn't hurt her. If it has been anyone else, he might have thought they were silly for fearing the thunder. But Claire was so small, so young, and so terrified. So Enoch pushed those judgemental thoughts aside and sat down next to her.

"There's nothing to fear. It's just a little rain," He lowered his voice to a gentle tone, one he would have spoken to a baby with.

Finally, Claire opened her mouth, her voice soft and squeaky, "Back at home, mummy used to come sit with me. She'd brush my hair and sing me a song." She told him.

Enoch thought about this for a moment before saying, "Well, I really don't think you'd want me to sing to you. That would probably scare you more than the storm."

A small giggle escaped Claire's mouth. For a moment, Enoch was brought back to his childhood, where he and his sister would sit on a sofa together in the lobby of the funeral parlor waiting for their parents to finish their work. They'd quickly grow bored, trying to pass the time with games of 'Rock, Paper, Scissors' until they eventually became annoyed with each other leading to one pushing the other. 

They sat in silence for a little while, Enoch listening to the waves of rainfall that was so calming to him. But he tried to put himself in Claire's shoes, as she twitched and shivered at every clap of thunder and gust of wind. 

Suddenly, he stood up from the couch, "Come with me," He said, extending his hand to her. 

She looked at him with hesitance before accepting, placing her much tinier hand in his. Her hand was so much smaller in comparison to his, she only managed to be able to wrap hers around a couple of his fingers.

Enoch led her over to the window. Raindrops raced each other down the pane of glass before dropping down to the flowerbeds below. Claire kept her distance from the window, her squeeze growing tighter around his fingers. Enoch stepped right up to the glass, watching the dark sky as it streaked with a flash of lightning. 

"See, the thing about thunderstorms is," he started, "they may seem scary and powerful but really, they can't hurt us at all." 

"What do you mean?" Claire blinked, tilting her head. She begged to disagree, the storm seeming very threatening to her.

"Well," Enoch continued, "We are inside, protected by the roof and brick walls. So no matter how hard it tries, the storm can't touch us. We stay dry and warm. Humans have learned to outsmart the weather." He pressed his hand up against the cool glass, "See? No harm." He pulled his hand away and showed her his palm. It was dry and untouched.

Claire looked out at the storm then back to Enoch, still not entirely convinced, "But it's loud," she said. Enoch couldn't deny that. The sounds of the storm overtook the large house, filling all the empty rooms with creaks, groans, and rumbled of thunder. 

"When I was little and something scared or bothered me, my mum always told me to focus on something else. Something that would distract me. Like saying the ABC's or counting all the books in the room. You get so engrossed in that one task that you forget about what's going on around you."

"Like when mummy sang me songs!" Claire pitched in.

"Exactly," He nodded, then glanced at the clock, "It's almost half two in the morning," He told her. 

"That's early," She agreed.

"So do you think you can remember what I told you and try to go back to bed now?" He asked. He felt a yawn coming on and had decided he wanted to go back to sleep, whether Claire wanted to or not.

"I suppose so." She nodded to Enoch's relief. He lifted her up naturally, falling back into his old habits of helping his sister when he parents were too busy working. But Claire didn't complain, wrapping herself around him and resting her tired head upon his shoulder. Her curls bounced as Enoch carried her up to her room. He set her down on her bed which she quickly melted into, pulling the blankets tight around her. Enoch started to stand to go back to his room when Claire reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"Enoch?" She looked up at him with a twinkle in her eyes, "Everyone says you're grumpy but I don't think so." She said to him. " Why are you always so nice to me?"

Enoch pondered this, not quite sure how to reply. He knew it was true. He had a soft spot for the little girl, feeling protective over the newest peculiar.

"I think it's because you remind me of someone. Someone I used to care for a lot." He told her in all truthfulness.

"And who's that?" She inquired.

"My sister, Lucille." After he admitted it, he realized it was one of the only times he'd brought up his sister to one of the peculiar children. He didn't even think the other children knew about his sister - or anything about his life before coming to Cairnholm for that matter.

Claire slipped him a small smile, looking curious, "What was she like?"

Enoch thought back a few years, memories of his family and Scotland flooding back into his mind, "She was a lot like you. She loved pink and was very curious. Smart too. We were quite close, I suppose. She liked to talk a lot, play outside, and make friends. She was always very happy too." He told her, picturing Lucille's bright smile.

"I bet I would have liked her," Claire affirmed with a nod.

Enoch agreed, "Yeah, I think so too."

"Do you miss her?"

A breath got caught in his chest and he swallowed the lump in his throat. He had to take a deep breath before answering, "I do. A lot."

Claire looked as if she was going to ask another question but Enoch quickly stopped her, "You should get to sleep now. We both should." He told her.

With a silent agreement, she nestled herself back against her pillow. Enoch shut off the light and started towards the door when Claire's voice stopped him once more.

"Enoch?"

"Yes."

"The thunder stopped," She noted.

Enoch paused to listen but heard nothing but a faint patter of raindrops. He'd unconsciously listened to his own advice, distracting himself so much that he hadn't even noticed that the storm had died down. 

"Goodnight, Claire," He spoke once more but got no answer. He glanced over to see her eyes shut, mouth parted as she breathed softly, already fast asleep. 

Enoch shut the door as softly as he could and was left alone in the hallway. He took a deep breath and started towards his room at the end of the hall, wiping away the silent tears from his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: Guys! So I came up with the idea for this chapter this morning and I wrote it thinking “wow I love thunderstorms we haven’t had a good thunderstorm in so long!” And then this evening we were suddenly hit with a huge storm (like even a tree fell down in my backyard!!) It was such a weird coincidence. I think I’m either some sort of weather god or I just predicted the future haha!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry that it's been ages since my last update! I just started college and I've had no time to write! But I love this story and plan to continue it whenever I can, so stay tuned. Anyways, this is a big chapter so I hope it makes up for my absence!

While Enoch was generally considered the outcast of his neighborhood, Mr. Morrison was the exception. He never seemed bothered by Enoch's dark aura or his family's occupation. He acted as if living next to undertakers was just as normal as having a dog for a pet. He gladly struck up conversations with Enoch's parents about their work and how their business was faring. 

Enoch never felt judged by Mr. Morrison, who always made an effort to give him a smile and a wave if he saw Enoch passing by. As Enoch grew up and Mr. Morrison grew older, Enoch would often help out his neighbor. Mostly, helping Mr. Morrison consisted of moving the lawn and watering the flowers in his front garden. Usually, after he was finished, Mr. Morrison would invite him inside. They'd take a seat in the musty old floral lounge chairs by the fireplace for a chat. Mr. Morrison would offer him a cup of tea and a biscuit, which Enoch would gladly accept after the laborious chores.

It wasn't too hot on the early September day but Enoch had still broken a sweat after spending over an hour trimming the grass in Mr. Morrison's back garden. The spiral of blades spun as he pushed the mower back towards the old tool shed where it would rest until the next time the grass started to look a bit too shaggy. Enoch brushed his sore hands on his trousers and used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. He often wished that Mr. Morrison owned one of the newfangled gas-powered lawn mowers instead of the old rusted push mower; it would certainly speed up his job. 

Enoch approached Mr. Morrison's back door, raising his fist to knock, but it swung open before he could even get the chance. 

"Wonderful job again, Enoch. Please, come in," Mr. Morrison allowed him inside and Enoch followed him to the lounge where the two steaming cups of tea were already waiting. He took his usual place in the old floral lounge chair across from Mr. Morrison and happily accepted the hot cup of tea, although he was still hot and sweaty from the hard work outside. 

As he sipped the warm drink, he gazed around the room. The lounge was cozy but certainly showed its age, the upholstery on the sofas old and warn, faded wallpaper and carpeting, and everything covered in a thin layer of dust. Enoch doubted much had changed since Mr. Morrison had moved in with his wife soon after they were married. 

Enoch recalled the first time he visited Mr. Morrison's. It was two summers previous when he was 11 years old. Enoch was in his room reading a book, perfectly content with spending the hot day in the comfort of his home when his dad burst in the room.

"Enoch, it's a beautiful day outside, what are you doing just sitting in the dark?" His dad said without even a greeting. He marched over to the window, pushing the curtains aside and throwing open the shutters to let in the sunlight.

"I'm trying to read," Enochs scowled, blinking in the bright light.

"Why don't you go out and play instead of wasting the day inside?" His dad said. "You've been looking so pale lately. You need some sun."

Enoch rolled his eyes, just wanting to go back to his book, "I go outside all the time," He insisted, leaving out the details of spending most of the time in the shadowed forest.

His father wasn't taking no for an answer, pressing his hand on Enoch's back to push him up to his feet, "I've got a great idea!" His dad exclaimed, as if it was a new revelation, although he'd probably thought of it earlier that day. "Mr. Morrison's back garden has been looking a little rough lately. Why don't you go over and offer to mow the grass? He could certainly use the help and maybe he'll even give you a couple of pennies for your work."

Enoch grumbled but soon found himself next door standing outside of Mr. Morrison's front door, his dad's hand resting on his shoulder. Enoch fidgeted with one of the buttons on his shirt, nervous to knock on the door. He practiced what he would say when Mr. Morrison answered the door. 

"Go on, give it a knock," His dad encouraged him, pushing Enoch forwards as he took a step back.

Knowing he had no way out of it, Enoch plucked up the courage to give the door a soft tap, then he stepped back and waited, his hands folded in front of him.

It took a few moments before the door creaked open and his elderly neighbor stood in the doorway looking down at him, "How may I help you, laddie?" Mr. Morrison perked up one of his bushy grey eyebrows, causing his forehead wrinkle even more than it already was.

"I - uh..." Enoch's mind went blank. Everything he had practiced had suddenly left him as he stood frozen in front of his neighbor. 

Enoch's dad stepped forward to rescue his shy son, "Enoch, here, was wondering if you wanted any help cleaning up your back garden."

Mr. Morrison's face brightened, looking back to Enoch with a toothy grin, his front teeth crooked and crossed, "Why that would be lovely! Come in, come in." He stepped aside and Enoch caught a glimpse inside the dimly lit room. 

Enoch glanced back at his father for reassurance. 

"Go on Enoch, I will just be right next door if you need any help," His dad told him with a nod. "Just be back for dinner." His dad slowly started to move in the direction of their house, leaving Enoch there to fend for himself.

Looking from his dad back to Mr. Morrison's warm smile, Enoch stepped inside. He was immediately hit with the scent of peppermint and tobacco. Taking a quick glance around, he couldn't help but feel a bit claustrophobic. The old house was smaller than his own but also condensed with furniture and old nicknacks that had been accumulated over the years -- a faded tapestry on the wall, a ceramic pig sculpture by the fireplace, a vase filled with fabric flowers, and a towering wooden bookshelf filled with books that looked like they could have been older than Mr. Morrison himself. The air was thick and warm, the summer heat filling the room. The windows remained closed, stopping any airflow. Sunlight streamed in, casting patches of light across the furniture, specks of dust flickering as they floated through the air.

"I will show you to the back door," Mr. Morrison walked further into the depths of the house.

Enoch was hesitant to follow, his mind racing with the possibility that the old man could be plotting to kill him or lock him in the attic or shove him in the oven like in the story of Hansel and Grettle. 

But instead of any of the gruesome outcomes Enoch had pictured, Mr. Morrison simply led him to the back garden, opening up the old tool shed for him. Enoch peered inside to see the lawn mower sitting surrounded by old took kits and shelves of rusted screwdrivers and hammers that looked like they hadn't been touched in years.

"Well, I will let you get to work!" Mr. Morrison said cheerily before disappearing back inside. 

It took Enoch a little while to get the hang of things, struggling to pull the lawn mower from out of the small shed, which was more like a cupboard. Pushing against the handle of the mower, he began to move up and down the small lawn, contained by the boundaries of the wooden fence. 

After an hour or two -- he'd lost track of time -- Enoch had finished and even managed to shove the mower back into the shed. His knees felt strained from pushing the mower back and forth and he massaged his sore palms. Approaching the back door, he knocked once before poking his head back inside. 

"I'm finished," he called into the quiet home. 

"Oh good!" He heard Mr. Morrison's voice from another room before he emerged from the kitchen balancing a tray, "I just finished making some tea. Come, come." He turned down the short hall, walking into the lounge.

Mr. Morrison set down the tray that carried two steaming cups of tea, a saucer of biscuits, and a little jar of red hard candies that reminded Enoch of the jars of animal hearts he kept hidden in the woods.

"Have a seat."

Enoch did as he was told, hopping into one of the armchairs. Mr. Morrison handed him a cup of tea, trying to keep his quivering hand from spilling any of it. Enoch couldn't imagine wanting anything less than a hot drink after working outside for so long but he was too polite to refuse. 

Mr. Morrison took his own cup of tea and a biscuit as he settled himself into the armchair opposite Enoch, "Try it," he insisted to Enoch, nodding at the teacup in his hands, "I add my own twist to make it extra special. 

Enoch's eyes grew wide, "Is it poisoned?"

Mr. Morrison let out a hearty laugh, "Oh dear boy, of course not! Go ahead, try." He shook his head at Enoch's childish worries. 

Not totally reassured, Enoch took a teensy sip. Nothing tasted off, so he took a larger one, careful not to take too much and burn his mouth. It was sweet, with an herbal essence that tasted rather leafy to Enoch, but not bad. His tongue tingled slightly as the warm liquid washed over it. 

"It's good," Enoch said with sincerity, "Better than when my mom makes it, even."

Mr. Morrison smiled, the wrinkles by his eyes deepening, "The secret is adding some ginger while it steeps and honey too. I get it fresh from the farm just down the road. The beekeeper has become a good friend of mine."

Enoch and Mr. Morrison went on to have a nice chat as they both enjoyed their cups of tea. Enoch would have stayed longer if he hadn't had to return home for dinner. 

"It was lovely getting to know you, Enoch. Come back soon!" 

And Enoch did. Over the next two years, it became a sort of tradition. Enoch would do some yard work and then they sit and talk with a cup of tea. Even in the winter, Enoch would pay Mr. Morrison a visit on Sundays and they would sit by the fire and talk about their lives. Mr. Morrison would listen intently to Enoch, treating him like an adult more than a child, which he came to greatly appreciate. He felt as though he could confide in his elderly friend, telling him about how the other kids at school were often mean to him and asking for advice. Mr. Morrison, who had lived a long and interesting life, would, in exchange, tell Enoch stories that often provided him with insight or a life lesson. Or they were just purely entertainment, like when Mr. Morrison described the time he got lost on a horseback ride and ended up in Wales.

The one thing Enoch never told him, of course, was about his eerie ability to raise the dead. Even with all that Mr. Morrison had lived through, Enoch thought it would be too much for the old man's heart to handle. Enoch often had to bend the truth, adjusting his stories to sound more normal and less death related. Now instead of his friend Wilbur running away from him because he raised the dead, Wilbur simply left when he found out Enoch's family ran the funeral parlor. Still creepy, but much less supernatural. 

Mr. Morrison never seemed bothered by the mention of death. Perhaps it was his age. He'd seen so many of his friends go, his family, and even his own wife. He seemed so comfortable with the idea of death, much unlike the rest of the neighborhood. It was only natural, he insisted. Because of Mr. Morrison's outlook, Enoch was sometimes tempted to tell him about his powers. He almost let it slip a few times -- catching himself right before he went any further. Enoch could tell Mr. Morrison would notice when Enoch almost slipped up, his wrinkled faced looking puzzled as Enoch would backtrack. 

It happened on that fall afternoon, as Enoch was describing his latest trek in the woods. He was on a roll talking to his neighbor, finding it a comfortable time to rant and let everything off his chest. He considered Mr. Morrison a friend -- his only friend -- and one of the few people he could truly talk to. 

"And so I was just about to turn back and I went to put my put down on what I thought was just some leaves but I happened to look down and saw that the leaves looked furry! So I nudged the pile with my shoe and flipped it over and it was actually a dead red squirrel. I think it must have fallen from a tree or something. And I picked it up because I thought it was the perfect thing to bring back to add to my c--" Enoch cut himself off, immediately bringing the teacup to his mouth to provide a distraction. He had almost let it slip about his collection of dead animals in the woods. 

He took a sip from his drink before clearing his throat, "-- bring back to give it a proper burial... You know, like my parents would do." He lied, hoping Mr. Morrison wouldn't notice his obvious mistake. 

Despite his age, Mr. Morrison was still sharp, and he lowered his eyes at Enoch, his bushy grey brows furrowing. Enoch looked away, taking another casual sip of his tea.

"What was that you were about to say?" Mr. Morrison questioned. 

Enoch tried to play it off, "What do you mean?" 

"You were about to say something else. About what you did with the squirrel."

Enoch shrugged, "Oh no, that was it. I buried it. That's all."

Mr. Morrison wasn't convinced, shaking his head as he sat back in his chair, "I've noticed you tend to do that."

"Do what?"

"Start to say something but stop, as if you were about to reveal something you weren't supposed to." Mr. Morrison squinted his eyes suspiciously before joking, "So what is it? Are you some sort of spy for the German's or something?" 

It was 1939 and the war had just started. It could be a sore subject but Mr. Morrison still managed to joke about it. 

"I'm a scrawny 13-year-old Scotsman, I don't think the Germans would want me," Enoch chuckled.

"Exactly! That's just what they'd want us to think. It makes you less suspicious." 

They both laughed but Mr. Morrison's expression soon turned serious again.

"Enoch, laddie, I don't know what'cher hiding from me, but I can tell it's been bothering you. I know things haven't been easy for you, what with your parent's occupation and how those kids treat you at school, but I know you and you're a great kid. You're like the grandson I never had. Now, I'm not about to make you spill all your secrets to me, but I want to let you know I'm here for you. You're not alone. So if you want to tell me what it is you're always hiding, then I'm here to listen. If not, then that's your choice and I won't be sticking my nose into your business anymore." 

Enoch didn't respond right away. He wanted to tell him, he really did. A little voice in the back of his mind nagged him, saying that Mr. Morrison might somehow understand. But Enoch dismissed it. Not even a man as nice as Mr. Morrison could understand the real Enoch and what he was capable of. He couldn't risk ruining the bond that he'd formed with the old man. He'd already lost Wilbur that way, he couldn't lose the only other person he'd come to really trust. 

"I'm sorry, sir. I just can't" Enoch stared at the dregs of tea at the bottom of his cup.

Mr. Morrison let out a soft sigh but nodded, "Ah yes, I suppose there are some things a boy must keep to himself. I remember from my childhood." The old man closed his eyes. The room was quiet. 

Enoch shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the silence lingered. He placed his cup down on the table, "I should be going." He said, glancing outside as the sky turned an orangish hue as the sun sank lower in the sky.

Mr. Morrison opened his eyes, "Ah, yes, of course. Let me see you to the door," He started to stand, but struggled to get to his feet. His frail arm shook as he tried to push himself up.

"No, no. Don't worry about it," Enoch insisted, not wanting the elderly man to strain himself. Mr. Morrison didn't argue, settling back into his chair. "See you again next week?" 

Mr. Morrison nodded, "And the week after that if the fates allow it." 

Pondering the cryptic response, Enoch left, crossing back over to his own house.

Mr. Morrison's words didn't leave Enoch's mind all night. The voice in his head kept nagging him. Maybe he'd understand? Maybe, just maybe, Mr. Morrison wouldn't see Enoch as a freak, like everyone else. His heart hammered in his chest, keeping him awake until sunlight streamed through his window. 

Enoch rubbed his weary eyes, sleep deprived yet somehow he still had enough energy to hop out of his bed. He dressed quickly before running to the front door.

"Enoch?" His mother questioned as he passed her, "Where are you going?" But he didn't have time to explain.

He ran back to Mr. Morrison's house as if some outside force was pushing him along. In his sleepy haze, he felt as if he was floating. Or maybe he was truly going insane now. Whatever it was, he knew there was no stopping him -- he had to tell Mr. Morrison the truth. He couldn't keep his secret any longer.

Breathing heavy, he rapped on Mr. Morrison's front door then stepped back to try and catch his breath. After a moment with no answer, he tried again, thinking that maybe the old man hadn't heard him the first time.

Finally, Enoch reached for the knob and gave it a jerk, finding it unlocked. He stepped inside. 

The house was still dark, completely silent except for a soft ticking of a carved wooden clock on the wall. Enoch shut the door behind him, taking a few cautious steps inside.

"Mr. Morrison?" He called out. But he got no answer.

Treading down the carpeted hall, he looked into the dining room and kitchen as he passed but saw no one. Finally, he turned into the lounge where he had been sitting just the evening before. To his relief, he saw the white wisps of Mr. Morrison's hair poking up from where he sat in his favorite chair facing the opposite wall, his wrinkled hand resting on the fabric arm. 

"Mr. Morrison? Sorry, I let myself in," Enoch said, stepping through the doorframe. Mr. Morrison didn't respond or even turn his head to look back at Enoch. Something wasn't right.

Enoch stopped, looking around the room. His eyes stopped on the table, where two cups of tea rested, the brownish liquid now cold. The jar of candies still sat on the tray, a few wrappers strewn about. Only crumbs were left on the saucer where biscuits usually sat. Nothing had been touched since Enoch had left the day before. 

"Mr. Morrison?" Enoch inched forward to where the man sat. Enoch turned to face him and saw the old man resting in his chair, head tilted back, mouth slightly open, and eyes shut. 

"Mr. Morrison!" Enoch reached out to grab his elderly neighbor's shoulder as his stomach filled with dread. The old man didn't stir, even when Enoch gave him a soft shake to wake him. 

Immediately, all the energy that had carried him there left his body and he dropped to his knees, letting out an anguished cry. 

It wasn't the first time Enoch had been so close to a dead body -- and it certainly wasn't the last. But it was the first time he truly felt something about it. Pain. It filled his chest, swelling up in his lungs, searing his throat, and filling his head. It choked him. He coughed and sputtered as tears started to leak from his eyes. 

"I'm sorry," He coughed out to the dead man. "I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you! I should have told you!" He cried. 

Although the house was silent, Enoch's head was filled with noise. His shallow breaths echoed, his heart thundered, his blood rushed. His ears flooded with an insistent ticking of a clock -- _tick tock tick tock tick tock._

Hearing the ticking, he was reminded of the alternating beat of a heart -- one that was beating at a steady pace, not like his racing in his chest. 

Through the chaos inside his head, an idea came to him. If he were in his right mind, it would have been much more hesitant, but his judgment was not working properly. With a new burst of frantic energy, he jumped to his feet, sprinting as fast as he could out of the house and down the street. 

It was an idea that he'd had before but he always thought it too drastic to attempt it. It was insane. He wasn't even sure it would work. But he wanted to try. He _needed_ to try. 

His legs carried him all the way to the forest, knowing the way through the trees as if it were his own home. Navigating over every rock, under every branch, and past every landmark, he didn't stop running until his feet hit the familiar terrain of his clearing. 

Tripping over his own feet, he fell down to his knees, not even bothering to wince as his legs scraped against the course dirt underneath the tree. He immediately sunk his hands into the patch of soil that was loose from being disturbed, constantly dug up and pushed back. He ignored the chips of stone that scratched his palms as he dug like mad with his bare hands, throwing the discarded soil behind him. Dirt caked up under his fingernails and in every crease of his hands but he didn't care, only ceasing his dog-like digging when he saw the glint of his old metal lunch pail. Heaving it up from under the surface, he jumped to his feet again and took off back to the old man's house. 

Enoch barely had time to breathe, his lungs crying out for air. The body of Mr. Morrison sat pale and limp in his favorite chair, looking peaceful compared to Enoch's frantic and jarring movements. 

His fingers trembled as he pulled out a jar from his lunch box. Inside rested his only hope -- a large red heart that he'd been saving for the right occasion. Now was the time. 

Holding the still and slimy heart in one hand, he looked at Mr. Morrison and spoke aloud, "I'm sorry," before he grabbed at the dead man's chest. Shutting his eyes, he channeled everything he had in him. He wasn't sure where the source of his power came from, but he could feel it within him, like a burning sensation in the depths of his own chest. It was as if there was a light inside of him. The more he concentrated, the more the light grew stronger and stronger. He'd never tried to raise something this large before. He held the heart tightly, mustering what little energy he had left. He kept his focus until the light inside him consumed his whole body, his blood boiling as it coursed through his veins. With a sudden spurt of life, the heart in his hand shuddered as it began to beat, matching the rhythm of the clock. A heavy exhale escaped from his lips, stumbling back to look at the old man's body. He prayed, with blood and grime covered hands, that it would work, to every and any god he could. 

"Please, please, please, please," He muttered like a madman.

The body didn't stir. Enoch's weary legs started to give out as his eyes welled up. He grabbed onto the table behind him to try to keep himself from collapsing, using it to help himself to the ground. But he kept his eyes locked on the body, biting down on his lip so hard he could taste blood. 

"Please!" Enoch cried out, holding back a sob.

The old man blinked. 

Enoch's breath hitched.

Mr. Morrison's eyes fluttered open, glassy but awake. His head rose slowly, the bones in his neck cracking. His brows furrowed as his eyes traced the room as if he couldn't recognize his own home. Finally, they fell upon Enoch, slummed on the floor, his face and hands a mess from dirt, blood, and tears.

"Oh, Enoch, what have you done?" Mr. Morrison said, seeming very much alive. But Enoch knew it would only last so long.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Morrison," He sniffled, "I needed to tell you but by the time I got here you were--" Enoch cut himself off, both to choke back a sob as well as stop himself from saying the word. _Dead._ Did Mr. Morrison know he was dead? Enoch had only ever brought animals back to life, or inanimate objects, never a thinking, talking person!

"I know, laddie. Dead as a doornail. I suspected my time was running short. Now the question is, why am I back?" The old man was more confused by being alive than being dead.

"This is it. This is what I was hiding all this time." Enoch finally admitted. "I can bring things back to life." Enoch braced himself for his reaction, although he knew there wasn't much the dead man could do about it now.

The man pondered Enoch's words for a moment before nodding and saying, "Well can you put me back now?" He said simply.

Enoch blinked, wiping the tears from his eyes, "Huh?" Why would someone want to go back to being dead? "That's all you have to say?"

Mr. Morrison sighed -- could dead people sigh? "I'm sorry, Enoch, I'd love to stay and chat, I really would. But I am in so much pain. I am not meant to be in the world of the living any longer. It's my time to rest."

"B-but," Enoch stammered, at a loss for words. He wasn't sure what to expect, but it wasn't this, "Aren't you the least bit shocked? I've been keeping this secret for so long. You're the only one I can talk to."

Mr. Morrison tried to smile, but Enoch could tell there was pain in his eyes, "I've seen a lot in my many years of life, Enoch. Some of it I can't quite explain. Our world is strange and there is much we don't know about it. I've accepted that fact, others have not. It's your task to find the people who do. They are the people you will be able to talk to."

Enoch didn't understand, "What do you mean?" He wanted so desperately to have a conversation with Mr. Morrison as he had when he was alive but Mr. Morrison already felt far gone.

"You have plenty of life ahead of you, Enoch. You must not be afraid to trust people." Mr. Morrison reached out to put a frail hand on Enoch's shoulder, "I believe in you, Enoch. You are no freak, like the kids at your school say you are. You are special. Embrace it. Now please," He looked at Enoch with pleading eyes, "Send me back. I am old and this is too much pain to bear. Send me back"

Enoch still had so much more to ask but he could tell that the man was growing weaker by the second, his fragile spirit fading slowly. Enoch could feel his connection fading, the power could only hold onto the man for so long before death dragged him back.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," Enoch said, finally.

Mr. Morrison sat back in his chair, "No matter that now. Just be proud of who you are. Embrace your gift, Enoch. And remember, you are never alone." His voice grew weaker as he leaned his head back, shutting his eyes as if he were going to sleep.

"Thank you, Mr. Morrison," Enoch said with a shaky voice. 

The old man didn't reply.


	15. Chapter 15

_"Good morning, thank you for tuning into the BBC morning news presented by George Adams. Today's date is the 22nd of October, 1942. Now for an update from the western front."_

Enoch awoke to the muffled sound of a posh English voice that certainly didn't come from any of the peculiar children. The radio presenter's voice crackled with static but still managed to travel through the wall and into Enoch's room. He groaned, rolling over and folding his pillow over his ears in an attempt to block out the noise. But the sounds of the radio still seeped through, the wooden wall between his room and Abe's next door not thick enough to block out the sound. 

Enoch gave up, reaching to his bedside table to check the time on his watch. 6:34 am. Enoch slammed the watch back on the table, rubbing his bleary eyes. It was way too early for him to be awake. He lied in bed for a moment, contemplating his options. Finally, he settled on getting up and marching to Abe's room to order him to shut his radio off.

Pulling off his covers, he pushed himself out of bed and made his way to the room next door. He had planned on giving Abe's door a hard knock to give Abe a warning that he meant business, but was surprised -- and slightly disappointed -- to find it open. 

Enoch hesitated before stepping inside. There he found Abe, fully dressed, sitting up against the opposite wall, his body curled up so his chin rested on his knees. Beside him on the floorboards was a small radio that crackled and buzzed as the broadcast came through. Abe looked so focused on the radio that he didn't even notice Enoch's entrance.

"Abe?" Enoch spoke, causing Abe to jump as he realized someone was watching him.

"Enoch? Sorry, I didn't realize you were there. What are you doing awake?" Abe asked.

Enoch stepped further into the room in a slow approach, "I could ask you the same question." He said. "Your radio woke me up."

Abe's eyes widened apologetically, "Oh my, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize..." He quickly reached from the dial, turning down the volume so it was just loud enough for him to still hear it.

Enoch had been so angry just moments before but seeing Abe listening so intently to the broadcast filled him with a mix of concern and curiosity, "Why are you listening to the news anyways? There's never anything good. It all about the war, people dying, and towns being blown to bits. That doesn't seem like a pleasant way to start your day."

Abe looked to the radio then back to Enoch, as if debating whether to answer him or not, "I have to listen," Abe told him, "I want to know if there is any news from my home." 

It took Enoch a moment to understand what Abe meant by home. Wasn't this his home? But Enoch quickly realized Abe didn't mean the children's home, Wales, or even Britain at all. He was talking about his real home, Poland, where he'd fled only a few years ago. 

Abe had come to miss Peregrine soon after the war had started in 1939 when he was only 14, shortly before Enoch arrived. Now, soon to be 18, Abe had assimilated to the Welsh island so well, Enoch often forgot he hadn't always lived here. Enoch didn't know too many details of Abe's past, only that he left mainland Europe to escape the war.

"I keep listening in case something happens," Abe continued, "I keep hoping for some good news but I always expect the worst. Things were only just starting when I left, I can only imagine what it is like there now." Abe's voice fell softer as he stared deeply at the floorboards.

Enoch tried to imagine what it must be like living in a wartorn town or country. He was lucky, they seemed to be safe and sound on their little island off of Wales, and his village in the Scottish Highlands was far too rural to be of any importance to the Germans. But, while he was safe here, there were many other children just like him who could see the destruction from their bedroom windows. There were people forced to evacuate their homes, families torn apart, and young men - not much older than himself - killed in battle. Abe had been forced to flee his country in search of safety. There was no telling what he'd been through.

"They were roundings us up, sending us off to be relocated -- or so they claimed. But they are killing us. I know they are. I've heard the stories, from those who escape. I'm one of the lucky few."

"The monsters?" Enoch thought he was referring to the hollowgasts that terrorized the peculiars.

But Abe shook his head solemnly, "No, worse than monsters. The Nazis. Humans behaving like monsters. Monsters are incapable of feeling remorse for their killing, it is just in their nature. But humans... when humans kill, they must be possessed with such a hatred that it overcomes their humanity. They don't see us Jews as people anymore. We are merely prey that they want extinct." 

Hearing this stunned Enoch, he sat down on the floor across from Abe trying to take it all in, "Surely that can't be true."

"The Germans don't want the world to know. They want to keep it a secret but Jews have been persecuted for years. I had to leave in order to save my life. But my family... I don't know where they are now." Abe emitted a little sniffle. As one of the eldest children of the house, he was looked up to by the younger peculiars. He tried so hard to mask his emotions to stay strong for the little ones but he couldn't hold it in forever.

Enoch wasn't sure what to say but, luckily, he didn't need to as Abe continued, "I listen to the radio every morning hoping to hear some news from home, that the Jews have been set free, or are fighting back. Maybe I will hear my father's name or find out where he is. But I nothing ever happens. It's just more news about the fight in the Pacific or about troops in France. It's like the world has forgotten us in Poland."

"Christ, I'm so sorry Abe. I had no idea." 

Abe shook his head, wiping his eyes with the cuff of his sleeves, "It's alright. I'll be alright." He took a deep breath, looking up at Enoch, the whites of his eyes stained red, "Anyhow, I apologize for waking you up. I should have kept the radio on lower volume."

"It's fine really," Enoch insisted, feeling sorry that he had been so angry about being woken up when Abe was dealing with so much more. 

Abe sat in silence again, listening in to the news broadcast. Enoch stayed with him, listening too and taking in all of what Abe had said. He hoped the radio would report on what Abe had told him, on the Jews of Poland, or maybe gives some good news that the war was over. But instead, the news focused on America or the British troops in North Africa.

_"-- and from the homefront,"_ The broadcaster reported, _"it has been decided that conscription age in Britain will go from 20 years of age to 18. All single men 18 and older are now required to serve if called up with few exceptions."_

Enoch and Abe exchanged a glance. Both were close in age, Abe turning 18 the next year and Enoch soon to be 17. Although they may be peculiar, in the eyes of the law, they would still be eligible for the draft.

"Do you think -" Abe began to ask.

"No! Miss P would never let it happen." Enoch answered. Knowing their caretaker, she would never let one of her peculiars be called up for the war, even if it meant breaking the law. She'd create the loop before that was able to happen.

Abe shrugged, "Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. To be called up, I mean."

"You don't really want to fight in the war, do you?" 

"Well, it's my people who are out there dying. We could use our peculiarities for good, rather than being stuck here for eternity. Why don't we leave our loops and try to fight - not just in the war, but fight the hollowgasts too? We hide instead of actually using our powers to protect ourselves. What's the use of being peculiar if we can't use it to fight back?" 

Enoch had often wondered that too. What exactly was their purpose? Surely, they must have been given their powers for a reason, right?

"I suppose, you're right. But still, the war? I've been surrounded by death my whole life and it's not pretty. There's no glory after death like they claim. Nothing that you will know, of course. When you're dead, you're dead. That's it. And war only brings death and sorrow." Enoch told him. He'd seen so many families broken by the loss of their loved ones at the funeral parlor. It was never beautiful and inspiring, it was devastating. Over the years, Enoch had become immune to the emotions he experienced every day. He blocked out the aura of sadness that the parlor had. He learned to ignore the pain and heartache and see death for what it really was: the end. 

"I know, but --"

Enoch cut him off, "What about us? You'd be leaving your friends -- your _family_ practically. You told me once that this was my family now, the peculiars. They're your family too and we need you. You're the only one that can see them -- the hollows." Enoch couldn't help but feel a bit angered by Abe's interest in the war. He had so much responsibility in the home, he couldn't just leave them - could he?

"That's just it!" Abe said, spreading his hands out, "That's why I feel such an obligation. I can see the monsters. I can do what no one else can. I should be out there fighting back, not just lounging around our big cozy house all day pretending everything is okay in the world." Abe paused to let out a sigh.

"Let's face it," He began slowly, "I've never truly fit in around here. I can't lift boulders, or breath underwater, or float. The only thing that is peculiar about me is that I can see the hollowgasts. Besides that, I'm just normal." He bowed his head again.

Enoch never expected to hear the cool, confident Abraham Portman admit something so vulnerable. For years, Enoch and the other children looked up to Abe because he always seemed so put together. In fact, Enoch had even been jealous of Abe, from his good looks to his popularity. If anything, Enoch thought he was the outcast among the peculiars and Abe was the one who seemed to fit in so well. 

"That's bull and you know it," Enoch stated with conviction. "None of us fit in, that's the whole point of being peculiar, isn't it?" 

The words came out of his mouth so naturally that Enoch only really considered them afterward. It was something that had been told to him so many times since he came to the children's home, they were all different and that's what brought them together. But yet he still saw himself as an outcast. It made him a hypocrite. Here he was telling Abe that they all fit in when he didn't even believe it himself. Maybe it was time he took his own advice for once.

"I suppose..." Abe gave a half-hearted nod.

"Don't you see how much you're liked and needed around here? Miss Peregrine relies on you. The children look up to you. Emma -- " Enoch suddenly felt uncomfortable bringing her into this, but it brought a small smile to Abe's face, " -- Emma, she loves you! And I --" Enoch started before cutting himself off.

Abe looked up at him with a slight tilt of his head, his blue eye glistening, waiting to hear what he had to say next. Enoch took in Abe's features, his pointed nose, the arch of his eyebrows that gave him a forever intrigued look, the subtle dimple in his left cheek when he smirked, and the heart shape of his face. Enoch had never really taken the time to examine Abe's face, never getting close enough to do so. But now, he sat across from him, having a heart-to-heart and getting to see him in a new light. Enoch had always scoffed at Abe, seeing him as nothing more than a popular figure in the household, rather than someone with real emotions and a story that he barely told. For the first time, Enoch realized they actually had something in common -- they both hid dark secrets from their past.

" -- and I," Enoch started again, "I've always admired you, I suppose," Enoch admitted with hesitance, "I was jealous, even. You always seem to confident and happy with everything - living here and being peculiar. I wish I could feel that way too sometimes."

Enoch wondered if it was exhaustion that pushed him to admit more than he ever thought he would. The wee hours of the morning seemed to cast a spell upon him and now he was spilling his heart out like some sad sap. It wasn't like him, yet he knew that none of what he said was a lie. Some of it he hadn't even admitted to himself yet, but every word he spoke to Abe that morning was the truth. Maybe he was breaking down. All the walls he'd spent so many years building up now seemed to be crumbling slightly, wearing down by the presence of Abe. Enoch didn't think he liked it but yet it did feel as though some of the weight had been lifted off his chest. 

There was a pause as both took everything in before Abe cracked a grin, "Wow, Enoch O' Connor saying something _nice_ and _positive_ for once? I must be dreaming!" He had returned to his usual jovial self, standing up to pace around the room, making wide and overexaggerated hand movements.

"Oh shut it," Enoch rolled his eyes but his lips tweaked up into a smile. He got up to his feet, leaning against the footboard of Abe's bed.

Abe pressed a hand over his heart, "Honestly, I'm shocked! I never thought the day would come! Are you sure you're the real Enoch and not some lifelike clone he created?"

"If you keep acting like this, it will be the first and _only_ time I've been nice to you," Enoch let out a soft laugh. It felt good. He hadn't laughed, _truly laughed_ , in what seemed like ages. He'd forgotten how it felt to be this joyous.

Abe let out a loud gasp, "And a smile too? Could I be mistaken?" Abe rushed over to pinch Enoch's cheek, "And what a handsome smile at that! Such a dashing young lad!"

Enoch couldn't help but smile more. Perhaps this was what it's like to have a friend.

"How do you not have a girlfriend?" Abe continued his teasing, "All the ladies of Cairnholm must be queuing up to see you! Of course, there's only about ten of them who aren't married or old widows, but still, you're the most eligible bachelor on this whole bloody island!" He laughed.

Enoch chuckled, bowing his head slightly as his cheeks heated up. 

"Abe?" A new voice interrupted their banter, "What are you doing?"

The boys turned to see Emma standing in the doorway in her nightgown. She placed her hands on her hips watching them with an equally confused and amused look. She stepped into the room, making her way to Abe's side and he naturally put his arm around her.

"Well good morning to you too," Abe chuckled.

"You're up early," Emma commented, referencing both her boyfriend and Enoch.

"It's never too early to joke around with your mate, right Enoch?" Abe shot him a grin.

Enoch just nodded. The word " _mate_ " lingered in his head. _Mate _implied friendship. Abe considered Enoch his _mate_. Enoch hadn't had a _mate_ since Wilbur back in year five.__

__"Well next time you decide to joke around at seven in the morning, keep it down or you'll wake up the whole house!" Emma advised with a soft laugh._ _

__Abe nodded, lowering his voice, "You're right, you're right." He tilted his head down to give her a short but meaningful kiss to which she happily melted in to._ _

__Enoch turned away. A breath caught in his chest and he bit his lip, suddenly not wanting to be there any longer._ _

__"I should go," Enoch said, pointing to the door._ _

__Abe looked up from Emma to Enoch, "Alright, thanks for chatting with me. We'll have to catch up again, just maybe not so early next time." He kept it vague in front of Emma but Enoch could tell there was more meaning behind his simple thanks. Enoch had been there to listen to him, to hear him in a vulnerable state. Although they had never been the best of friends, there was something about spilling your emotions at six in the morning that bonded people together._ _

__Maybe, for the first time, Enoch had someone he could actually call a friend._ _


	16. Chapter 16

Enoch always loved autumn as a kid. He loved raking piles of leaves to jump into with his sister. He loved the crisp air and returning home to be warmed up by his mother's home cooked stews or fresh baked goods. He loved watching the trees change color, the Scottish landscape painted with warm shades of orange, yellow, and red. 

Autumn brought a certain feeling and atmosphere to his neighborhood. While it was beautiful, the season was commonly associated with death, as all the plants turned dry and brown ahead of the coming winter months. And at the end of October came celebrations such as Hallowe'en leading into All Saints Day. Hallowe'en brought the whispers of evil spirits, witchcraft, and all things creepy. Maybe that was another reason why Enoch loved it so much. For three short months, he didn't feel so out of place in the world. It was as if mother nature herself created the season just for him. He enjoyed going out guising with his little sister, where he could dress up as something scary and receive treats or coins instead of being teased like he usually was. He could embrace his inner demons instead of shunning them.

It was also a time when he felt most comfortable taking trips to the local cemetery. Sure, he would visit often at any time of year, but autumn was the best. He felt less judgment towards his visits when Hallowe'en was near. Many kids and young adults visited the graveyard around this time, whether it was to honor their relatives or, more likely, just to get a spook. 

The cemetery was only a quick walk from his home--it had to be seeing how his parent's work took them there so often. If Enoch wasn't at his clearing in the woods, he could often be found wandering around the headstones, reading each engraving with care. The leaves crunched under his feet as he paced up and down the rows of tombs looking at every name and every date. These were once people--real live humans just like him--now buried, dust and bone, under the earth. He must have seen hundreds of caskets lowered into the ground by now. Some were empty--just symbolic as their ashes were given to families--others containing real bodies, left to decompose underground. Whether he could see them or not, he was surrounded by dead people. 

The leaves below Enoch's feet crunched as he stepped, the golden light of the setting sun shining in his eyes, causing him to squint as his eyes traced over the headstones. 

_Murdoch Brodie 1771-1839_

_Ruth MacCallan 1858-1937_

_Eòghan Dòmhnallach 1644-1701_

There were people of all ages, all generations, all eras, buried right beneath his feet. Each had once lived a life that may have seemed far different from Enoch's but yet so much was the same. They all had experienced childhood, love, friendship, and loss. They all had eaten similar foods and drank the same water. They grew crops from the same soil and raised families on the same land. Their time and stories may have all been different but they all had one trait in common: Humanity. Despite how different the course of their lives may have been, they all lived and died, now buried in the earth. Maybe some still had living relatives to carry on their memory but many had been long forgotten by now. 

It was that mindset that helped Enoch deal with the trouble in his life. When bullies picked on him, he knew that in the end, they would be no better off than him. They'd all wither away to bones, their memory lasting only a generation or two longer. Then they'd be gone forever--just like everyone else who had lived and died before them. It was a dismal outlook but it helped Enoch get by. 

A cool breeze swept through the cemetery, stirring up some leaves as they blew across the ground and scattered about. Enoch tugged his woolen coat tighter around his body, burying his chin in his scarf. Goosebumps prickled his skin, even under all his layers. He shivered but continued on through the graveyard.

Enoch didn't believe in ghosts--not really. When he was really young, he claimed to fear ghosts, jumping at the bumps in the night. But after discovering his power, he had ruled out the possibility of wandering spirits. He did believe that humans--and other animals--had a soul though. That was what returned to the body when he temporarily resurrected a creature. Perhaps it left the body after death and it was his actions that brought it back. He liked to think that there was a place that souls went after death. They couldn't just linger in the body, no, the souls only revisited the body once he revived it. It was as if they were attached to their bodies via a little string. When Enoch used his power to bring back the life, the little string would tug the soul back to earth. 

Perhaps it was heaven, where the souls went after death. Or hell. Or an underworld. Many religions had theorized it. Where they went, he would never be sure. He could only make speculations and hope that where ever he ended up, it would be good. 

His parents had raised him Roman Catholic, although they didn't practice much other than attending Mass. Most Sunday mornings of his childhood were spent stuffed into his best trousers and jacket, sitting in a hard wooden pew listening to long lectures about the Bible from a man who looked like he could have lived through those times. Even still, he wasn't sure if he believed in God, or the whole concept of judgment after death. And if he did, he'd surely be a sinner. Most Christians would already label him as a witch because of his abilities. Maybe he was a witch. He still didn't understand his powers or where they came from. Maybe he was an evil soul, one that would be so hated by the Church. So while he may have believed in some sort of heaven, he didn't believe in the Christian definition of God because, in a traditional Christian's eyes, Enoch was an abomination. 

Enoch browsed the rows of graves liked people browsed library bookshelves, reading the inscriptions like the title of a book on the spine. Finally, stopped when he came upon one name in particular.

_Edgar Morrison_

_1853 - 1939_

Enoch's parents had been in charge of the funeral. It was a small one. Mr. Morrison didn't have much left in terms of family and friends -- no kids, his wife dead, friends dead. Only a couple of cousins and their families had shown up. Enoch too, of course, emerging from his room which he'd locked himself in for a few days after the old man's death. His parent's had been sympathetic, trying to console him, but he still mourned. 

But he'd taken Mr. Morrison's words to heart. He embraced his abilities and soon after the funeral, he was back in the forest with his collection. 

His parents never seemed to suspect anything was different about their son--they assumed he went out to play every day with the other children of the neighborhood. After the incident as a child when they found his collection under his bed, they assume he'd given up the interest in dead animals. To them, it was a distant memory of a strange childhood phase. They didn't know he snuck off to the forest every day to resurrect a small army of creatures--let alone what he was able to do with humans...

His sister, on the other hand, was a lot more keen...

Like most days, Enoch and Lucille had walked home from school together on that day in late September. He usually stayed silent while the eight-year-old girl rambled on about her day, talking about what she had learned, the rumors were going around, and all her friends. Enoch listened, nodding along as she skipped beside him describing everything in great and vivid detail. While he wasn't particularly interested in the subject matter, he enjoyed how happy she seemed. Her cheerfulness helped perk him up as well. Lucille was the only person who seemed genuinely interested in talking to him. 

Once they reached their house, Lucille would turn and go inside and Enoch would continue on down the road to "play" with his "friends." It had been this way ever since Lucille had started school just a couple years ago. But this time, when they reached their front stoop, Lucille stopped and turned to him, a dark eyebrow quirked.

"Where do you run off to every day?" She questioned him.

Enoch was caught off guard. She'd never second-guessed their routine before. 

"Just off to play," He told her. 

She didn't look satisfied with his answer, "Play with whom?"

Enoch shrugged, his eyes darting off to the side, "My friends."

"How come you never speak of them? How come I've never seen them?" She continued to interrogate him, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She was a bright kid, who could recognize a lie when she saw one.

"Why does it matter?" Enoch crossed his arms defensively. 

Lucille shrugged her shoulders, her long dark curls bunching up as she did, "Because you're my brother and I'm curious." 

"Mind your own business and go inside," Enoch brushed her off, "Tell mum I'll be back by tea time." He turned on his heel to go, heading down the street in the direction of the forest. He glanced back over his shoulder to see his sister still stood in her place, her hands on her hips with a stubborn frown before she marched up to the front door. 

With Lucille now inside, Enoch began to jog down the road. His book bag bounced against his leg and he held onto the strap across his chest in an attempt to steady it. As the edge of the woods came into his sight, he began to slow his pace as he headed into the shadows of the trees. Winding his way through the forest, he found his way to the clearing that had become his second home. It was the place he always felt comfortable--where he could be completely alone without fear of judgment or discovery. It was the one place he could truly be himself. 

"So this is where you go every day?"

Enoch whipped around, his heart dropping into his stomach. 

There was Lucille, standing just a couple of meters away at the edge of the clearing, her nose wrinkling as she peered around his dark and dingy hideaway. 

"Lucille, what the hell are you doing here?" Enoch exclaimed, his hands balling into fists. 

"Watch your tongue," She warned, mimicking their mother. 

He ignored her comment, "Did you follow me?!" His anger began to mix with panic. His clearing had been discovered. His secret was out.

Lucille's eyes flickered with a moment of fear when she saw her seething brother's reaction but she stood her ground, foot firmly planted in the dirt, "You were acting weird. I wanted to find out where you _really_ go after school."

Enoch knew that his little sister had always been the curious type but that didn't make him any less irritated with her. She started to walk around the clearing, looking around at the trees and dirt--there wasn't much to see which seemed to make her a bit disappointed.

"So what _is_ this place?" She asked, trying to see why the clearing was such a big secret.

"I told you that this wasn't any of your business," Instinctively, he began to back up against the tree in the center of the clearing, standing on the loose dirt that hid his collection. 

Lucille ignored him, "Does mum know about this place? Does she know you go into the woods every day?"

"Of course not," He huffed. 

"What's the big deal then? Why is this such a big secret?" She overturned a stone using the toe of her shoe as if it would reveal a lever to a secret underground hideout. 

Enoch paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He looked from his sister to the dirt under his feet. She was the person he was most close to. She never thought of him as odd. She never made fun of him. She never judged him. Instead, she looked up to him. She loved to talk with him, ask him for help with school, or play games with him. She was so sweet and innocent and refused to see the bad side of her older brother. 

He couldn't ruin that.

"It's nothing," He finally spoke, bowing his head. "I...I just didn't want you to know that I had no friends." It wasn't a total lie.

Lucille turned her head away from where she was inspecting a pile of leave to face her brother, her smile falling, "Awe, Enoch," Her expression softened. But her pity didn't last long as she suddenly ran at him and threw her arms around him.

Enoch almost fell over with the impact but managed to stay on his feet. It took him a moment to realize what happened before he accepted the embrace. She was so small that her face only reached his chest but he tried his best to bend slightly to hug her back. 

"I'm sorry I followed you," She said, "I don't care if you have no friends or a million friends, you're still the best big brother I could ask for." 

Enoch smiled thinking back to that day a few weeks ago. But as he overlooked the grave of Mr. Morrison, his stomach immediately filled with guilt. Lucille was the only person alive that he felt he could trust but yet he still had refused to tell her his secret. Instead, he'd told her a lie that filled her with pity. Maybe, _just maybe_ , she would understand as Mr. Morrison had. 

Enoch looked at Mr. Morrison's grave one last time, muttering a quick "Thank you," to him before he took off running back home. Even after his death, Mr. Morrison was there to give him support.

Bursting through the front door of his house, Enoch turned and made his way to the end of the hall to Lucille's room. She sat on the floor with a doll in each hand, her game of pretending interrupted by her older brother, panting as he came to a halt in her door frame. Her brow furrowed as he took a moment to catch his breath before speaking.

"Luci, I want to show you something."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I started writing this chapter in October? Haha sorry for the hiatus but I'm home from college now so more updates coming soon


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